The Monstrous Boy from Two
by Em74
Summary: *NOW COMPLETE* "The next time I return home, it will be a different house, a grand one, residing in the prestigious Victor's Village. Yes, this year is my year. This is the year I volunteer. This year is the year I win the Hunger Games." It's the 74th Hunger Games, and Cato's excited. Starts on Reaping Day takes us through the pre-Games events and the Games, with Clato, Cato's POV.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAMIER:**** I do not own the Hunger Games or any of its characters. All the rights belong to Suzanne Collins**

Chapter 1:

I am roused from a sleep by a loud noise, a noise whose source is not much of a mystery. I ball my hand into a fist, and bring it down hard and fast on the alarm clock resting on my bedside table, and I grin as the incessant beeping is replaced by a shattering sound, and that, too, is soon replaced by the sound of little pieces of metal clanging against wood. I open my eye a little and see that I have damaged the clock beyond repair, but I do not care. I will have a new one the next time I come home. For the next time I return home, it will be a different house, a grand one, residing in the prestigious Victor's Village. Yes, this year is my year. This is the year I volunteer.

This year is the year I win the Hunger Games.

My grin widens, and I swing my legs off the mattress, my feet sinking into the carpeting below. I stretch my arms out in front of me, and quickly realize how stiff my neck is. In response, I bring my left hand to my chin, the other to the side of my head. I turn my head, slowly, and am satisfied at the series of cracking noises accompanied by the relief of tension. I rise from my seat on the bed and cross my room, my destination being the closet opposite my bed.

I fling the doors open, not even flinching as the doors smash loudly against the wall and make an attempt to hit me as they bounce back. I rifle through my closet to find something to wear. Really, I could wear anything from dress shirts to basic cotton t-shirts or khakis to athletic shorts. I have always had a dislike to fancy clothes, and I know my mom would reprimand me even in her delusional state if I went to the Reaping in clothes I usually wear to training, so I try to find something slightly dressy that looks basic, so my mother is pleased when she inspects me, but it looks as if I just didn't care for the people who look upon me from a distance. I grab simple blue dress pants, because they will pass for jeans, and a solid black t-shirt. I quickly pull the shirt over my head and put on the pants and some sneakers before I exit my bedroom.

The long, peach colored hallway stretches from my room to the large staircase that spirals from the easternmost wall to the edge of our seating area. My brother's room as well as my mother's room are located along this hall, my mother's nearest the stairs. I begin my journey to the kitchen, traveling at a leisurely pace, until I hear light footsteps approaching from my side, and I reflexively raise my arm to block the blow I instinctively realized was coming.

"Oof!" a high pitched voice cries, and I turn to see a young boy laying on the ground, a look of pure hate and annoyance on his face. "Hey Bryan," I greet, my tone positively void of emotion, but if anything it was completely bored. "How'd you know?" Bryan whines, totally betraying his resolution to get people to believe he was really and truly his actual age: 9. "You were very loud. You need to learn to be stealthy." "Well, you're not stealthy!" Bryan accuses, arms crossed over his chest in an angry manner. "True," I admit, "But I'm big, so I can still take people down without the element of surprise." I start to walk down the hall once more, when I hear Bryan call after me, "Well, thanks for that!" I turn and nod at the boy who could pass for 6 years old, smirk on my face.

I thunder down the hardwood stairs, and swing into the seating area, which is complete with several couches, chairs, side tables, a fireplace, and, hanging above the aforementioned fireplace, a large, flat-screen television.

I remember watching the Hunger Games on this television in years past. I remember seeing 24 kids, a boy and a girl from each district, fght until only one is left standing while my mother lying on the couch, my brother placing bets of little value on what tributes scared him the most, my older sister calling her friends to gush about the most attractive tribute. But there was never a fire in the grand fireplace. We used to, back in Victor's Village, but that was something my father did... and mother prohibited anyone else doing so after he passed. Out of respect or something, I wouldn't really know. Respect is really something I do not have, because my mother said she had gained respect for my father because all he had done for her and helped her through, something I would not appreciate. I can do it all myself, and I do not need or want any help from anyone.

I walk through my home, cutting through my dining room before bursting into my kitchen. I grab a piece of bread to toast from the walnut wooded cupboards, and cram it into the high speed toaster. I look to the stove to see the time, and just can see 8:07 being displayed in neon on the stovetop. I curse under my breath, because I needed to meet Ashen and Brad in a minute, or 3 to be exact, and I can't exactly just leave my mother all alone with my 9 year old brother to take care of her without preparing him and informing her. I sigh, and run a hand through my blonde hair, spiked up in the front, and immediately hurry back to the base of the steps, soon after beginning my quick ascent.

"Ma, you all set?" I ask her tentatively through the door. "Yes, yes. Of course." comes a less than steady response. I push the door open, and my eyes immediately land on the frail, bony figure that is Alexandra King.

My mother married my father years ago, a year after he won the 53rd Games. She used to be elegant and rosy, always cheery, and she somehow shined even brighter with her husband by her side. But somehow, my father took all the light with him when he passed 6 years back, leaving us with a hollow shell of a woman. My mother has fallen gravely ill, and I tell no one. I say to everyone that I'm volunteering because I know I can win, and I don't want to have to wait; but truth is I can't wait. I need to get the money to save my mother soon because I doubt she will even live out the summer.

"Mom?" I whisper, looking into her glazed over eyes. The usual dull brown color gets a new spark, her whole personality becoming as animated as her eyes. I'm surprised beyond words. What... what just happened? My mother smiles, years of aging due to stress being erased, and she murmurs, "Jacob!" I'm taken aback. "Jacob...?" I question. My mother struggles to get up, reaching her arms out towards me. Then it hits me. Jacob King, my father. "No ma, it's me, Cato." My mother is still struggling towards me, murmuring, "Jake, oh Jake! I've waited so long for you to come! Or, have I come to you? Oh Jake, tell me, is my suffering over?" "Dammit, ma! I'm not Jake! My name is Cato, I'm your son!" I shout, but my mother only titters, "Oh Jake, how I've missed you!"

My blood boils for no reason I can place, but with every word my mother says I get angrier. I consider screaming again, but decide against it, so instead I turn on my heel and stalk out the door, trying desperately to ignore my mother's desperate shrieks, "No! Jake! You can't leave me! Not again! Jake!"

I stomp down the stairs, and at the landing come face to face with a portrait of my family. I ball my hand into a fist and punch it straight into the glass, and let it shatter over my hand. I shake my hand, dripping with blood, before I storm out my front door, slamming it behind me.

I emerge into the street, shocked slightly by the cold, but am not willing to let anyone know. I live in the upper class, a place for people who are related to now passed victor's and just plain rich people. I make my way down the sidewalk, because even though it is early and a holiday as important the Reaping, cars are already crowding the streets. Yes, we have cars. Only the rich, inner city folks though, it is not so common in the middle class, and completely absent in the poor areas like 59th Street. It's almost laughable how poor and unfortunate the gutter rats are, in fact, my best friends and I have often had a laugh over them when we hear about some outbreak of some contagious disease that blows through the 59th Street area that never contaminated even the lower sections of the middle class. But then we see some of the people who died because of it, sometimes 3 year old, starving children or withering widows who appear so desperate for their life to end, and, though none of us acknowledge any feeling of remorse, we do not find it all that funny anymore.

I run towards downtown, knowing I'm to meet Brad and Ashen just outside of Victor's Village, where they both live. The side walks too are becoming crowded, but I just push through the crowd, using my terrifying reputation I built at the Training Center to scare people out of my way. I pass the bakery, clothing stores, and several other shops before I hit the path to Victor's Village, and lay eyes on two very angry teenagers. I meet their glares and glowers with my trademark smirk.

"Where the hell have you been!" cried the red-headed, fair skinned girl. Her thin frame was clothed by an white dress, her sleek legs probably being longer than the fabric, as her dress cuts off mid-thigh. Her brown eyes glint maliciously, as do the girls in training, but one good look at Ashen Marshall tells you she's never done any manual labor.

The boy next to her has dusty, brown hair that falls across his forehead but is cut short. He wears a white dress shirt and black slacks, and even though he is glowering, you can tell that Brad Fowler does not mind wearing it, which totally confirms the fact that there is no way the 17 year old has ever set foot in the Training Center.

"I was late, okay?" I try to calm my friends. "No, not okay!" Ashen shrieks. She grabs the hem of her dress, and gestures to it with her other hand, "If I had known that you'd be 15 minutes late, I could've found a more attractive dress than this that would better compliment my hair!" "I-I think you look, look great in that white dress." Brad mumbles, but tries desperately to keep it even. I smirk at how desperately in love Brad is with our best friend, and try to help him out, "Yes, it's a very nice." Brad looks grateful, but Ashen seems spiteful, for she gives Brad the same glower she just gave me, and spits, "It's ivory." Brad looks taken aback by the venom in her voice, "Umm... wh-what?" "It's ivory, not white! Oh, if I had known how ignorant and inattentive you guys are I wouldn't have spent 300 dollars extra to get something better than white, but of course you just had to be so..." "Why don't we grab some breakfast?" I interrupt Ashen's screams, and Brad enthusiastically agrees. Ashen only gives a slight nod. I sigh at the relief of the tension, and we turn to walk towards downtown.

As we walk towards the bakery, the one I just past moments ago, I realize how easy it is to lose my friends in the crowd. They are just so, small. Ashen is 16, and is barely 5'3", and Brad only comes to 5'7", which is basically means he comes to the middle of my chest. I am 6'4" and 240 pounds of pure muscle, and can kill a man with my bare hands 7 ways, all in under a minute. Ashen is under half of my weight, and it is really quite comical to see us next to each other, and then there's Brad. He's basically right in between the two of us, and we make quite the interesting trio as we walk down the street, Ashen usually in the middle, accentuating our differences in height, weight, and stature.

"So... where are we going?" Ashen asks, her voice muted since it is coming from in front of me. She had missed our conversation for she was still seething over the fact that we had called her ivory dress white, which seems like a Capitol thing to me. But I guess she was spoiled rotten. Daughter of two victors and an only child? She basically could ask for a pony statue made of diamonds and her parents would have it made and delivered to her the next day, if Ashen would even want a pony. She might call it too common and ask for a unicorn.

"Bakery." I respond. "Oh." Ashen responds, her voice still muted so I can not tell whether she is pleased or upset by my words. Probably upset, for like I said, she's probably used to crepes filled with exotic strawberries and fresh milk served by her personal maid every morning. I sigh, and run a hand through my hair. I forget what it's like to be the child of a Victor, and to be able to waste money on any personal expense I please. We spend the majority of our money on mother's treatment. 'Mom,' I think, and what I did earlier hits me full force. My mom can't come to the Reaping, so I basically just left for a month without saying a proper goodbye, my leave taking being one contorted with anger. I always feel like I have to win for her, but will she even know if I'm gone? I frown, my family is that of the kings, or so my last name translates to, so, tell me, would a prince save the queen to become king, or would the prince have to prove himself otherwise to become king? I sigh, because I know the answer.

I am no longer winning this for my far-gone mother.

I am winning this for myself.

"Okay, we're here." I am pulled out of my thoughts by Brad's words and into reality, and see that my semiconscious steps had brought me to the outside of 'Creative Confections', the best bakery in the inner city. It is a bright white cottage, with lots of windows, and a door decorated like that of a door on a ginger bread house. For some reason, whether it be the cheery decor or delicious smell wafting out the windows all day long, being around it always bring a smile to my face.

Apparently it cheers Ashen up as well, for she is smiling and laughing as if we had never insulted her white... er, ivory dress. I smile as Ashen screeches when Brad kills an insect on his arm, because that's the real Ashen. She doesn't like anyone to get hurt, which is another reason why it's hilarious we are best friends, because I am the epitome of training gone absolutely perfect. Sure, I've never wasted my time in training on meager knives, because who needs a tiny, delicate, and pathetic weapon when I could just as easily slice open an opponent with a sword in the same time it takes to make a single cut with a knife? I deal in swords, spears, and pure, unadulterated strength. I smirk as I remember how Mr. and Mrs. Marshall attempted to train Ashen as well, and if I just tell you that the trainers had to get the little girl and forcefully escort her from the gym, where she stood with an innocent face amidst broken displays and with weapons scattered about her, mere moments after training began, you can understand why Ashen was not allowed to train anymore.

"Brad!" calls a shrill voice, startling everyone in our little group, "Brad!" I spot the source of the noise quickly, it's coming from a plump, middle aged woman who is standing behind the window display, waving enthusiastically at the groaning boy. She places a tray of crepes on the shelf and bustles out of view, before coming bursting out the door, her destination being the boy who's name she just called loudly. She hurries to Brad and circles her arms around his chest, because she comes up to there on him. Somehow, she's inches shorter than Ashen. Brad awkwardly places his hands on her shoulders as he mumbles, "Hi, Aunt Cathy."

This is Cathy Fowler, known as the Queen of Sweets. The women of the Fowler family have been making desserts and pastries for generations in District Two; Ms. Fowler, Cathy's mother, was the Queen before her, and Sasha, Cathy's daughter, is to be the next one. She is rosy and sweet, as are all Fowler's, including Brad. They have that old, rustic charm about them and are always polite, and they seem to know everyone. Cathy is about the age of Ashen's mother, yet both are years older than mine, but their lifestyles are so incredibly different; Marie Ann's being luxurious and pampered, where as Cathy's is more relaxed and laid-back, and more based upon the who than the what.

"So, how have y'all been?" Cathy questions cheerfully. "Well enough." Ashen replies. Her eyebrows shoot up as Brad puts his lips to her ear, and as he moves away, she then blurts out, "And yourself?" Brad smiles as his aunt gratefully accepts the invitation to gush about her newest confectionary creation, and I smirk as Ashen rolls her eyes at him, because she obviously didn't want to hear of the woman's life story due to a pleasantry that was of his idea. "Oh my! Are you hungry? Because if you are, the hour is growing late!" Cathy says with a smile, and gestures to the door of her shop just as the half past bell at the chapel chimes. "Thank you, Aunt Cathy," Brad nods to her as he opens the door and walk in, and Ashen and I also say thank you before we rush in after our friend.

The bakery has an overwhelming sugary sweet smell, and all you can hear is the scraping of mugs against tables, forks against plates, and the sound of the cash register popping open and smacking close again. Ashen's eyes light up as she sees a young man behind the register and she quickly asks us what we want so she can spend as much time as possible flirting with him before the Reaping. Brad looks forlorn, and I slap his back, trying to get the message across that he shouldn't look so weak in public, before brushing past him, sliding into one of the booths. Brad soon slides in across from me, and smiles. Apparently being around his family really makes him even more unbearably polite. I really can't understand why I'm friends with either of them, Ashen or Brad. They re just so different than me, and both so eager to point out these differences and annoy me endlessly with them. But they are both my very best friends, so I do my best to smile back, but based upon the sneer that resides on Brad's face, I doubt I appear very happy at all.

Sooner than I expected food is being placed on the table in front of us. A very angry looking Ashen drops herself down on the vinyl seat next to Brad and rummaged through the bag; she soon after found a bagel, and took a bite out of it ravenously, until she realized what horrid things she was doing to her make-up. She quickly pulled her compact and retouched her lipstick before pushing the bread away from her in a manner that begged one of us to ask her what was wrong. Thankfully, Brad obliged before I even thought of doing so.

"What's wrong?" "Oh, I'll tell you what's wrong!" Ashen shrieks, voice filled with palpable distaste, "That regular ass- down there," Ashen leans into the aisle, her cries especially loud so the man behind the register could hear, "just made a stupid ass mistake! I mean, I expect it from you two! But him?" Ashen spits, voice soaked in venom, "Unbelievable. Just... ugh!" "What did he do?" Brad asks, voice as tentative as before, and before Ashen can respond with another angry rant, I interrupt, "He called your dress white, didn't he?"

Ashen looks shocked, revealing this fact as true, but she quickly pulls on her haughty air again and crosses her arms over her chest and looks defiantly away from us. I roll my eyes and grab my food from the bag, and begin to make idle chat with Brad, until one of the employees shouts, "20 minutes till Reaping!"

I'm about to respond to Brad's former question, when it strikes me that I have not told my friends I plan to volunteer, so I not-so-gracefully work it into the conversation, "So, what do you guys think about me volunteering?"

Brad looks dismayed, he has always had an extreme dislike for the Games, but Ashen, surprisingly, looks absolutely radiant. She abandons her attempts to be angry with us and stands up, dancing in a circle squealing, "Oh this is so, so exciting!" She reaches over and starts shaking Brad, "Can you believe it? We'll be best friends with a victor! And one of the youngest in the history of District Two!" "But what if he doesn't..." Brad is interrupted by a slap to the face, and Ashen then turns to me and tells me, "Don't listen to him Cato you're a natural! You'll be victor for sure!" She sits on our table, only to leap of moments later, saying gleefully, "Ooh! I know what you should do to look more tough and such! Go to the Training Center! You always look angrier after a workout! Great idea, right! Yes? Yes!" Ashen claps her hands together out of pure delight. She snatches her purse, and hurries out of the store, calling over her shoulder, "See you at the Reaping!"

"What are you going to do?" Brad asks. I look at him and shrug, walking out of the store, heading towards the destination suggested to me by Ashen.

The Training Center is just up the street, and has a secluded entrance just like that of Victor's Village. Only this path is tread upon less frequentlly, and by people of lesser importance. It leads to a large, industrial like building, complete with a state of the art gym and mini hospital. I've spent sevral hours here, perfecting what I prefer to call a craft. In the time I spent at Victor's Village, I always heard from the mentors of that years games that other mentors complained about our training system. Apparently, Districts One and Four also trained, though our's was the most successful. The other mentors thought we were undeserving of this training, that it wasn't fair. But it is. The Hunger Games were created as punishment for being rebellious, but what District did not rebel? District Two. And since we were not excluded it is only fair that we had the best training for the Hunger Games.

I throw open the heavy, metal doors and brush past the secratary. I do not need to perform the neccessary check-in process. The lady behind the desk knows me well enough to let me in without interfering. I walk down the corridor, my destination being the gymnasium, a place located only a hallway away.

I burst through the doors, and immediately set myself up at the sword station. A fresh row of dummies is set up, and I grab a short, sturdy sword, and swing it to find its weight. I immediately lah out with my wepon, decapitating the head of the dummy in front of me, and then attack the vital organs of the next dummy. I continue down the row, cutting up the dummies in all different ways, but all just as deadly. When I have finished, I throw my sword back to the table of swords similar in its size.

I pass the hand to hand combat arena, for I am lacking someone to spar with, and laugh mockingly at the dainty little knives, arranged from smallest to largest on a table, targets hanging on the wall waiting to be peirced by the blades. I do, however, stop at the spear station, and grasp one by the shaft and heave it at a target. Bullseye. I smirk, and throw another. And another. And another.

Every spear I throw helps clear my mind, and when all but one spear remains, so does one thought: should I volunteer? I will gain nothing from going this year, except my mother's health. 'Or will I?' the ugly thought appears before I can stop it, and others follow, in a chain reaction, 'What would your family do if you lost?' 'What would happen if your mother can not be healed?' 'What happens if she is dead before you return?' Confusion rages inside me, and I decide that I must fight for my mother. And I am resolved, until one little, nagging voice in the back of my head whispers, 'I thought you weren't fighting for her anymore.' I angrily throw the spear, and it hits the back of another spear with a deafening crack. I realize that even though I am an amazing fighter, I will not go fight for my life unless I am the best that I can be. That some sick part of me will not let me risk my life for the life of someone who may never be healed anyway, not even if that person is my mother.

And the sick part of me wins out.

This is not my Reaping, but next. Next year I will slaughter every last tribute. Next year I will return as the Victor.

"Attention to all employees," the loudspeaker crackles, "The Reaping begins in 5 minutes. All those interested in seeing the Reaping may go to the center of town now. Thank you."

I walk out of the gym, and quickly exit the Training Center. I hurry down the hill, my feet smacking against the black pavement, rushing to the center of town for one of the biggest events of the year.

**Author's Note:** Well, here it is. The first chapter. I apologize if I made Cato a little bit too badass or not manly enough, its my first fanficton from a male's POV. I hope you guys enjoy and please, please, please review!

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(^.^) o See this bunny? He would love you it if you reviewed!

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	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: ****I do not own the Hunger Games or any of its characters. All rights belong to Suzanne Collins.**

Chapter 2:

I make it to the Reaping in mere moments, the Training Center only being about 100 yards from the center of town. I walk my check-in table, the second of the four tables where people with a last name that begins with K, like myself, can sign in. Of course, at this table people with the last name Lye can also sign in, or a last name such as Garrett.

The man behind the table looks positively annoyed as Amanda Kylo starts sobbing as her blood is pricked for the first time, and exhausted as Gerald Jekouah, a 14 year old with a speech impediment, tries to sign in. So he is in a foul mood when I step up to the table, and tries to excuse himself without laying eyes on me, mumbling as he stands, "I need an aspirin,"

I slam my hand on the table, sending the man lurching forward to hit straight into the table, which in turn results in him flailing backwards and collapsing into the chair. I lean forward and spit, "You can get your damn aspirin after you sign me in. Because if you don't, after the Reaping I'll go to that Training Center up on that hill, get a sword, and then I'll find you, and I believe you can imagine what comes next." I smirk as the man starts to quake, and quickly begins the check-in process. Fear is quite blatant in his voice as he asks, "Name?" "Cato King, 17." He picks up the needle and holds out his hand, silently asking me to do the same, and I oblige, and he quickly pricks it for the blood necessary to complete the procedure. I nod and he takes off to obtain the headache medicine in the opposite direction I walk in.

I walk over the path, it's cobblestone, I think, just like the pathway back at my house. I shake my head, trying to clear my head of the guilt and bad memories that surface to the forefront of my mind when I think of home. I walk swiftly with purpose towards the 17-year-old section, where all my friends wait. I face the stage, where 4 chairs are set up, ringing a podium where the Mayor stands. He's preparing for the the clock at the chapel to strike 9, an occurrence that will happen in 3 short minutes, so his long speech about the history of Panem can commence. I could almost recite the speech, after having it been recited for the citizens of Two since the Dark Days, and I had heard it recited the whole 17 years of my life by the same man, Mr. Rosen, for I had been required by law to attend this yearly occurrence in Town Square.

"Hey, Cato! Cato, over here!" I hear a loud voice call, and my eyes sweep over the rest of the Reaping. The children are herded into sections, girl's to my left and boys to my right, 12-year-olds being in the back, and then the 13-year-olds, the children of the two sections separated by rope, and the sections continue in age order, 18-year-olds being closest to the stage. The voice calls again, and I see a young man in my section waving, his blonde hair the same color as mine shining in the light, one hand still cupped around his mouth. I nod to him, and quicken my pace, and soon arrive at the 17-year-old section, walking through the gap in the rope to further chat with Sean Sanford.

Sean's a weird kid. Not social weird, but the circumstances of his family is weird. He was a Capitol kid, and no one knows why his two parents brought him here. No one knows why people of the Capitol would even consider leaving their utopia for a District, endangering their 4 children for the Hunger Games. Whenever any of us at the Training Center ask, he gets all nervous and says it's complicated. Yes, the Training Center. Truthfully, he's nothing magnificent, but we were way off when we branded him a weakling. We never expected him to put up such a fight when put in the sparring ring with Alex Matchi, one of the best kids in our training group. Nobody expected him to almost win.

He's a great friend, never lies and has a great sense of integrity. Not quite as good as Brad or Ashen, but still. The only problem is that Sean's petrified of the Games. He always had just watched them, seeing it as good fun and a proper punishment. He's never even thought of what it's like to be a tribute. And now it's his first Reaping, and he has 6 slips in the Reaping Ball, which means there's a chance he can be selected as tribute.

"So, how's Cato doing?" Sean cheerfully inquires as I squeeze into the space he saved right next to the entrance to the section. "Good enough. You?" "Nervous," Sean shudders, "How do you guys deal with this stress?" I shrug, "You just hope to God someone plans to volunteer." Sean seems uncomforted, and looks away.

I turn, and catch a glimpse of Brad, standing glumly with his hands in his pockets, the other rich kids swarming him. I scowl at him, hoping he sees me and stops looking so pathetic with the cameras everywhere, but I look away again when he ignores me, and my keen blue eyes searching for something to capture my attention. Sean has started to drone on about some crazy thing his sister had done this morning, his voice slightly high pitched, like all are in the Capitol, as I look aimlessly about. The only thing in sight that could qualify as interesting is the mentors walking onto the stage, a woman in her late twenties and a man in his mid twenties. The woman is pulled off to the side by the mayor, and they share a hushed conversation as the man takes his seat. My eyes flit up to the clock; only one minute to the Reaping.

I look for Ashen amongst the crowd of 16-year-olds, and can just see her distinct red hair through the gaps between the girls standing in the front, who are leaning casually against the rope. I can't see much else of her, her small stature being completely swallowed by the crowd. I am irritated that I can't mouth good luck, and Sean's almost endless drone provokes me further, causing me to scowl irritably.

Just then, the clock strikes 9, and the mayor impatiently taps upon the microphone. He bellows into the microphone, "Greetings, District Two Citizens!", and so the infamous speech begins. It's the same thing every year, the same speech at every Reaping all across Panem, the only variant being the list of the victors of the District. A couple of boys to my right roll their eyes as I scoff at Sean, who actually seems attentive to the downfall of the civilization of North America. Hadn't he heard this all before? He lived in the Capitol for, what, 16 years? If they're so eager to tell their greatness to a bunch of District citizens who couldn't care less, surely they would brag of how amazing they were to rise from the wastelands, lands devastated by famine, drought, and disease to their own citizens, wouldn't they?

The next part in the speech is the Dark Days, a wretched times for the Districts and the Capitol alike. Life in the Districts became living hell, civil war running rampant through the Districts, and the Capitol went hungry, as there were no resources coming in. The Capitol surpassed us, however, and promptly obliterated the 13th District after their victory, leaving only 12. The remaining Districts were forced to compete in the Hunger Games, though not all of us rebelled. As I said, District Two stayed loyal to the Capitol, and they in turn turned a blind eye to the special training our teenagers went through to prepare. I believe that at first if was to repay us for our loyalty, but I know that our training is only allowed to be continued for the sake of their entertainment; what fun would the Hunger Games be if it was full of untrained, scared little kids?

Our escort taps her foot impatiently upon the stage, as eager for her part to begin as we are for the mayor's to end. But her attempts to get him to speed up only slow him down, for each tap of her foot is amplified by the microphones installed at the base of the stage, making the mayor lose his place in his 29 name long list of victors several times. I chuckle spitefully as the escort humphs exasperatedly, causing the mayor to jump from Enobaria, the Victor of the 62nd Games who won by tearing open the throat of her opponent with her teeth, to Jonathan Kale, Victor of the 72nd Games. He went mad in the arena, and was forbidden from being a mentor. He owns a home in Victor's Village, but it is used infrequently, as he was taken to the Capitol for 'intensive treatment' a few short weeks after he returned home.

"And now, for our lovely escort, Titania Markov!" Our mayor steps back from the podium as Titania flings herself at it. She smiles, and fluffs her neon blue curls and smooths the ruffles of her dress of a matching hue. Our mayor starts the round if applause for this interesting character, and Sean enthusiastically complies, but I do not. I stand, my arms stiff at my side. I refuse to applaud for someone who doesn't even look human that will gladly lead at least one teenager to their death.

"Happy Hunger Games, District Two! Is everyone excited?" she questions, her voice as if she's suppressing laughter, and I shake my head distastefully. No one responds without being prompted to do so, and she swallows uncomfortably, and announces, trying to regain the cheerfulness in her voice, "Well, let's start with the ladies!"

Titania struts across the stage, towards the first glass ball, the one that contains the names on thousands of girls ages 12 to 18 on tens of thousands of little, white, paper slips. Our escort clutches one in her grasp, and she breaks into a wide smile, her white teeth glinting in the sunlight as she hurries to the podium, more than excited to read the first name of the first tribute she will be escorting. She smooths the paper and speaks clearly, "Clove Flare!"

I had never known anyone by this name, not one girl comes to mind. I crane my neck to see if she has yet emerged into the path. I see a commotion in the 15-year-olds section, obviously this Clove is trying to get out of there. Finally, even the girls crowding the entrance part, and a young girl emerges into the path, and I swear she's in the wrong section. She has the physical demeanor of a 13-year-old.

Her hair is straight, and falls straight down to the middle of her back. She wears a grey dress with green swirls, or perhaps it's the other way around. It clings tightly to her chest, accentuating the slight curves, and becomes loose after the waistline. She wears tall, black combat boots, that hit the stone beneath her feet hard. As she comes closer, I see her eyes, and I judge them to have a startling similarity to the pattern of her dress. I can now tell that both are green, a pale green, with flecks of grey. These eyes flit across the people of the sections ahead of her, as if searching for something within them. There is the slightest moment when our eyes meet, and though she moves on without a second thought or even a hint of recognition, when her green eyes lock with my icy blue ones, I feel my blood warm and my eyes soften.

As Clove mounts the steps, I see how petite she is. She's not scared as I would expect from a so obviously defenseless girl. Was the whole non-emotional thing just a very convincing act? And that smirk she wears as Titania asks for volunteers and is met by silence in the square; could that be hiding fear?

One thing's certain: I can kill Clove Flare very, very easily.

And if District Two is producing such a measly girl for their female tribute, who is normally the biggest competition for the male tribute, and vice versa, who's to say that I can't win the Hunger Games this year?

I hardly register Titania cross to the other Reaping ball, chock full of the names of male's, my own being entered the same amount of times as Sean and Brad: 6. I had never gone down to the Justice Hall on November 19th to apply for tesserae, I had not needed it. What I am focusing on, however, is my chances in the Games. If I have such little competition within the toughest District, I could easily destroy the rest of the Careers, and the rest of the tributes are worthless. And, though I am not fighting for her, I could win and heal my mother. And I would be neighbors with Ashen and Brad. And when the name Titania reads is Sean Sanford, it seals my decision. Before my friend can even move a muscle, I lunge out of the section and shout, "I volunteer!"

"Wonderful! Come on up here, young man!" our escort titters cheerfully. I nod slightly, and walk swiftly, as purposefully as I had minutes ago when Sean had called my name. It's a quick walk, only a few yards, and I close the distance quickly. Titania looks positively radiant as I quickly ascend the steps, yet Clove still has that searching, almost appraising look in her eyes and a smirk on her face. When I get even closer, our escort starts to ramble on how strong I am, and I smirk; not only because of Titania, but also because the smirk falls from my fellow tributes face.

"Now, what is your name, young man?" "Cato. Cato King."

"Wonderful!" Titania exclaims again, her high pitched voice grating against my ears, "Now, shake hands! Go on," I stick out my hand for the small 15-year-old to shake. She seems hesitant, but raises her arm up to clasp her hand with mine, though she has to angle it, for I am about a foot taller than her. The sun shines upon Clove, and it outlines scars etched into her outstretched arm. Maybe, just maybe, she's not as pathetic as I thought. Clove slips her hand free from my grasp, and our escort quickly snatches our hands and raises them, exclaiming, "I give to you, the 74th annual Hunger Games tributes from District Two; Clove Flare and Cato King!" The audience bursts into their halfhearted applause once more as we are escorted by Peacekeepers towards the Justice Hall, where an hour's time is allowed for us to say goodbye to our loved ones.

"Your first visitor will be here in a minute." the gruff voice of one of the Peacekeepers shouts as they push me into a large room with walls of a deep red hue and white couches. I walk to one and lean against it, not wanting to sit.

The doors creak open moments later, revealing Sean. He walks in kind of slow, and stays a little bit away. "Thanks. For everything." he smiles. "I guess you're right, Cato. All it took was praying to God I wouldn't go into those hellish Games." I glare at him saying, "Are they only hellish because this year, your siblings could've been tributes? Were they not when strangers were going in? When my sister could've?" Sean shifts uncomfortably, "That-that's not what I meant..." My glower darkens, and I spit, "Just forget it." Sean nods, and I turn away. I don't understand the deep anger I harbor against my friend; he left the Capitol, so technically I should not turn my hatred of them on him. But I can't help myself when he says something like that; surely last year he was calling the Hunger Games entertaining and fun, and now they're hellish because he could be a part of them? Pathetic.

"Time's up. Come here." the Peacekeeper commands. Sean flees the room, eager to leave me be while I am angry. I feel slight remorse for lashing out him, but he doesn't yet understand the Hunger Games from a District citizen's point if view; he still sees them as a game.

The doors reopen, and the room is flooded by guys from training. There are tall men, brawny men, strong men, all who I had trained with, who I had bested all these years. They congratulate me, saying things such as, "Good luck," or "I know you'll win,". They were superficial, no depth to them; but coming from people who usually don't wish well to anyone, I appreciate it. They leave quickly though, coming up to me and saying their goodbye before they turn and exit the room once more. 20 come and 20 go; and I hardly register who says what before the doors slam close again.

The next people who come through the door are my two best friends, Ashen and Brad. The latter of which is still glum looking. Is it because he knew all along I would volunteer? Because he knew I would go into the Games?

"Oh, Cato! This is so exciting!" Ashen gushes animatedly. At least one of my friends is supportive. "Ooh! It's just an amazing feeling! Knowing I'll be the best friend with a Victor! It's just... ooh!" Ashen sighs, spinning onto the couch while she giggles airily. I smile at her and feel a firm hand on my shoulder. I whip around and come face to face with Brad. He whispers in a low tone scarcely audible over Ashen's laughs, "Look. I hope you realize that Ashen is over inflating you. You'll actually have to fight." "Against who?" I scoff, and Brad looks at me as if I had lost it, "Clove, of course!" I am taken aback, and shake my head mockingly at him, "She'll be no problem." Brad looks at me as if I'm insane, "Cato! Do you want to know what Karen says she can do?" I shrug, indicating I may be slightly interested and Brad continues, "My sister says she's..."

"Time's up. Come over here now." The Peacekeeper interrupts. Ashen leaps from the couch and crosses the room, dragging Brad by his hand that she snatched with her. "Bye, Cato! Good luck and we'll see you soon!" and as the doors start to close, Brad shouts, "She's lethal with..." his last words being cut off as the door slams shut. I stand there, perplexed. That petite little girl is lethal?

The doors are pushed meekly open, and I see a small person standing in the doorway. "Bryan."

My brother comes over to me and gives me a hug, his arms encircling my waist and he buries his face in my lower abdomen. I pick him up, his tiny body being one of the easiest weights I have lifted in the past few years. I swing him onto the couch, where he sits cross legged, a thinking look etched upon his small face.

"What are you thinking about?" I spit, "Why'd you do it big brother? Why?" I look to him confused, and he mumbles, "Volunteer." I lean in his face and say, "Because I know I can win." "But you don't need to win! You don't need to prove anything to me! I know what a great fighter you are, and I look up to you so much! What I need is for you to stay here, and to help me look after mom!" "Mom? She's dead to me already." I sneer, and Bryan looks up and meets my eyes, his brown ones so full of sorrow as he whispers in a pained tone, "Well she's not to me. And without you here to help, I'm afraid she'll die, and that you won't come back to me, and I'll be left alone, suffering with the fact that she died because I couldn't help her." I don't even want to mull over his words, don't want to think about the palpable worry in it, afraid it will make me second guess myself. "I'll come back, don't you worry." Bryan shakes his head, "But what if you don't? Did you even consider what you'll put me through if you don't? What you'll do to me and mom watching you kill and thirst for blood in the Games, facing death every day? You say you won't be killed, that there's no chance. But there's always a chance. Like the chance that mom would become mentally delusional," he looks down, trying to hide from me the tears that are starting to stream down his cheeks, "Like the chance that dad would die."

I stand there, searching for words to show that his little speech had no effect, but none come.

"Time's up. Come here, little boy." Bryan nods and swipes at his eyes, sniffling. He places a cold piece of metal into my hand and he walks quickly out of the room. I stare after him as he leaves and the doors close behind him.

I open my hand and see a familiar necklace. It's my training tag. It's a thick, silver chain, and attached to it is a tiny silver plate, with the number etched into it. I sigh, and clasp it around my neck so that I can hang on to the one thing that has given me strength all these years.

The one thing that will give me the strength to face the Capitol.

**Author's Note: **Here's the chapter! Took me two solid days to write, so I hope you enjoy! Next chapter is the train, where Cato first meets Clove! Oh and here's a question: who should the male mentor be? Leave a review saying his name, his age, and his Games, which can be the 67th, 68th, or 69th, and how he won them.

So, please review! And please keep reading, though I won't be able to update as quickly now that school is starting back up again in two days. So please read and review! It will make me ever so happy! :D


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: ****I do not own the Hunger Games or any of its characters. All rights belong to Suzanne Collins.**

Chapter 3:

"Come along..." The man in the white suit trails off, and hurriedly whispers quietly to the woman next to him, before he turns back, "Caro." I roll my eyes as I start to move at a leisurely pace. Seriously, I'm about to go into a brutal, preferably bloody, fight to the death with 23 other teenagers which could last weeks, even months; couldn't they at least learn my name?

I make my way down the hallway, flanked by Peacekeepers, and see they have yet to summon Clove. Could she possibly still be being visited? No, the Peacekeepers have probably been ordered that the sooner the Capitol citizens get to view and evaluate their newest pawns, the better. The doors to her room being opened and her name being called loudly by an elderly Peacekeeper only moments after I pass probably indicates that I am correct.

The main doors to the Justice Hall open, making similar creak to Clove's, and I am pushed into the narrow path between citizens of the District cheering loudly at my presence and reporters from the Capitol firing questions rapidly. A fresh wave of cheers ring out as Clove emerges from the Justice Hall, the cheers being lesser than my own and these being more high pitched. I take my eyes off the cameras, though my trademark smirk does not slip from my face, to survey the crowd of District citizens. I see that the people in the front are moving slightly for small frames to slip by them, all of whom are cheering for Clove. I raise my eyebrows; why would Clove's fan base be of such small children? I consider this as I turn my back to the citizens, focusing on the reporters once more.

"On you go..." the same man pauses once more, unsure of my name, "It's Cato. Cato King." I growl, "And if you forget it one more time, I'll make sure you never can." I turn my back on the Peacekeeper and mount the train.

The train has several cars and cabins, one of which, the only I have identified, is the living area. There is a large television on the wall, and a couch of a soft, brown material. I stand in the doorway, not sure whether I should take a seat on this couch, or maybe traverse the cabins in search of the dining car, as I hadn't had nearly enough breakfast at the Fowler family bakery, or possibly go to the left, in the direction of where the District One tributes are already positioned. That's how this all works, the Reapings and this train. The train begins in District One, where their tributes board the train, and it progresses onto District Two, then to the third District, and the fourth, and so on. After we hit District Twelve, we loop back around and take the fastest and most Direct route to the Capitol, back near the first and second Districts. I stay there, thinking, when a body slams into me from behind.

"What the h..." I cut myself off, seeing the deadly glare I am receiving from my so called fiercest competitor, stopping to laugh. Clove's glower intensifies, and she spits out the first words I have ever heard her say, each syllable laced with an increasing amount of venom, "Well? Are you going to stand there all day, or am I going to have to stab my knife in your neck and drag you out of my way?" "As if, little girl. You couldn't be strong enough to pick up my sword." Pure rage flickers in her mysterious, green eyes, taking them to an incredibly dark hue. I smirk tauntingly, and Clove shoves me, her hands placed square in the center of my chest. I am taken aback by her strength, and Clove takes advantage of my weakness to snatch a knife that was hiding in her hair, somewhere in her luscious, brown locks, and presses the blunt edge of the blade to my neck. It's her turn to smirk, and she almost purrs, "Are you going to move, or will I have to further demonstrate?" I glare menacingly at her, and stalk off, not wanting to let her believe I will move just for her, do her bidding because she has caught me off guard.

Clove struts through the car, going straight to the right, and before she slips through the passageway, I call, "Where are you going?" Clove looks back over her shoulder, rolling her eyes, "What? Am I supposed to wait around for people like that damn escort to be told what to do?" and with her voice raised in superiority, Clove slams through the door, leaving me to stare after her.

I sit and wait a moment, unsure of what to do. Follow her? Stay here and wait for our escort and mentors? And as I weigh the options in my mind, one option becomes the clear and obvious choice. I jump to my feet and run out of the cabin, searching for Clove.

I find her sooner then expected, as the dining car is right here, and the grand table full of food has distracted Clove. She circles the table rapidly, as would a predator when it found its prey in a vulnerable state. She has a silver spoon in her hand, the tip smothered with a chocolate substance, which she licks with her abnormally small tongue absentmindedly while her free hand flits over the table, searching for something else to nibble on. "Clove?" I ask, for the sole purpose of annoying her, and I am pleased that I succeed. The sound of my voice echoing through the room startles her enough to fling the spoon in the air, which I easily snatch and shove into my mouth greedily. I smirk, the cold metal digging into the side of my cheek because of this, when Clove can't decide whether or not to throw the next spoon she acquires at me as well or to dip it back into this succulent, chocolate substance. I interrupt her thought process with a murmur, "What is this stuff?" She shrugs, and grabs the bowl before dashing into the next cabin, the spoon still in her clutch. I laugh as I hear the door slam, and walk back into the living area as the train starts to move.

"Where the hell are those tributes?" I hear a female spit angrily, and as I move into the doorway, I catch a glimpse of her. Thick black locks that fall in waves down her back, deep brown eyes, perfectly tanned skin, and luscious pink lips that when closed cover her sharpened teeth, the gold coating on the tips glinting in the light. Enobaria.

"Oh, what does it matter? Let them wander as they please. You should know by now that they will not do as we say; and the best way to get them to favor us is to let them think we do not control them. Only then they will abide to our orders, thinking of them as just suggestions." the young man, our other mentor, says coolly, as he relaxes on the plush sofas, "Just let them be."

"Let them be!" Enobaria spits, getting into the man's face, "Do you remember the last time we let them be? Did we come home with a victor? Did we, Moe?"

I am pleasantly surprised; Moe? Moe Valentino? The victor of the 66th Games, who won through his unrivaled skill with a sword? I lean farther into the room, praying that the observant Enobaria does not notice me, and I do catch glimpse of the man. Rich, brown hair frames a pale face with charcoal eyes, large ones, and a bright, white smile, a smile which won him the sponsorship of thousands of young Capitol women. He also had a sob story, one which I have long since forgotten, that won the hearts of thousands, even in the Districts; but that pity was shattered when he savagely murdered 15 of his competitors, turning their insides out with the tip of his blade.

I smile, glad to be mentored by Moe, and back out of the room, searching for Clove once more.

I knock, or rather pound, upon the closed door in the cabin to the right of the dining car, the one in which Clove disappeared, and she is presumably behind the door I am banging insistently on. I'm impatient, I get it, I've been told enough times by my trainers that I do not spend the necessary time to wholly complete a kill; and I don't like to wait very long to complete what I aim to do. So every time I knock on the solid oak, the more forceful my motion becomes, until it comes to the time where I place one foot in the center of the door and start to push, satisfied by the startled cry that emits from the room when a cracking noise begins to echo through the car. Almost immediately Clove springs to the door and unlocks the chain, frantically opening it to prevent further damage to her door, greeting me with a glare when her pale face is fully exposed. She points accusingly at me, spitting, "This is now your room." I roll my eyes, mumbling, "Whatever, Clove," and I extend my hand, forcing her small one into my grasp, and begin to drag her towards the living area, almost missing the blush she so desperately tries to hide. Almost.

"There you are!" Enobaria exasperatedly exclaims, earning a slight push from Moe, as we emerge into the living area, our hands no longer connected.

"Hello, Enobaria. Nice to see you too." I say pleasantly, knowing that overly sweet people get on her nerves from my years of being her trainee. She scowls, and I smirk, satisfied by her dark reaction to my comment.

"Anyway, I believe it is time for formal introductions," Moe stands up, attempting to put a stop to the increasing tension between Enobaria and I, "My name is Moe Valentino, victor of the 66th Games. I was scheduled to mentor Clove, but in light of recent events," Moe pauses uncomfortably while he glances at a seething Enobaria, he turns to me and smiles, "I'll mentor Cato."

"And I'll take the scrawny one." Enobaria says disdainfully. "Titania will escort you to your rooms, where you can enjoy high class food from the dining car and amuse yourself with random things placed in your quarters, or you can just watch soap operas with Moe until the Reaping at three o' clock." Moe rolls his eyes and goes to the left, where I presume the escort and our mentors stay, and Titania runs to us, more than happy to do something other than sit around.

"Follow me!" she calls cheerfully, snatching Clove's hand much like I did minutes ago, but is more cautious around me. I smirk, and follow the disappearing figures of a small brunette and a neon blue Capitol woman.

"Clove, this is your room, and Cato this is yours." Titania gestures to the slightly ajar door at the end of her sentence, and I scowl when I see Clove struggling to contain her laughter. Our escort, however, seems no less knowing of the fact the door is open then the fact that all of District Two hates her Capitol ways and nature. Clove stops struggling to contain her amusement when Titania disappears around the corner, her high heels still clicking loud enough to here even as she disappears into the next car, and can't help herself from laughing at my frustration of getting the room she hid out in earlier. "What did you do in there that makes it so funny?" Clove does not voice a response; she only shakes her head and winks before she walks into the room on the right. I, slightly tentatively, walk into my own.

The room, surprisingly enough, it is not that bad. All I see is an empty bowl with a heavy, metal spoon resting inside, the latter still drenched in the chocolatey substance. Perhaps she was laughing solely because I was stuck with the room she used and told me I would have to take; or quite possibly because she was amused by our escort. But maybe it's something else; something I will never understand about Clove Flare. And the more I think about it, the more I suspect the latter.

The next few hours pass quickly, the minutes blending together as I spend time confined in my large, expansive quarters. The whole of the room is about the same size of my sitting area at home, the place where I watched those Games, keeping distance between me and the arena, and now here I am, in a room the same size on my way to the place where it all happens. The Capitol. I frequently have to remind myself of the training necklace cold feel against my bare skin to try to fight the urge to permanently silence our escort and the Capitol citizens we meet, and not in the way of the avoxes. I would love to do much more to them than cut their tongue.

I soon hear a knocking on the door, not a forceful one though, so I can tell it's Titania behind the door. I grudgingly throw open the door and knock the bright blue bundle of energy out of my way, already aware that it is time for lunch. It must be nearing one o' clock by now. Sure enough, Enobaria and Moe are already seated around the table, filling their plates with the food Clove and I already saw this morning, and Clove is sliding into one of the wooden chairs with plush, fabric cushions, her slender hand reaching for a roll that our female mentor then snatches, possibly out of spite, and sinks her razor sharp teeth into, smiling at Clove all the while.

I slide into the chair next to Clove, as I am screamed out of the seat at the head of the table by one distraught Titania, for a reason that would be very difficult to guess as so much seems to upset the delicate balance of her life, and grab a shiny, white plate out of the center of the table. As I reach for food, the train screeches to a halt. This must be District 9, as the clock indicates it is just past 1:30. I sigh, wishing 3 o' clock would come faster; I can't wait to scope out the scrawny little starving children who make up my competition. I pile food onto my plate, warm, delicious food that I am eager to devour, and pick up a silver utensil, and using it how my mother directed me before she became to far away to be reached, even though she physically is so close, and begin shoveling food into my mouth. I sit in stony silence, and Clove picks at her food; she eats it in the most peculiar way. She cuts her meat, a lean chicken, into strips, no one bigger than another, and only eats one strip, until a dazed look etched itself onto her pale face, and she drops her knife and fork, pushing her plate away from her unappetizingly. She often pulls it back to her again, only to repeat the process with a different type of food, until she finally pushes her chair away from the table and stands, stalking out of the dining cabin, the door to her room slamming as the train begins to pick up speed again. Enobaria was watching my fellow tribute the whole time she was eating, her cat eyes darting in a calculating manner to different parts of Clove's frame, watching every motion scrutinizingly, as if searching for imperfection. As I continued to wolf down food and Enobaria remained in her almost trance like state, Moe and Titania, the most sociable of our eccentric quintet, attempt amiable chit chat, but the years of the lessons drilled into Moe's head surface to the forefront of his mind as our escort drones on, and Moe often snaps at her, as I have been wishing to do since the moment she summoned me to the dining room. I soon stand, fed up with the crowd, and walk back to my quarters, eagerly awaiting the recap of the Reaping.

It soon comes, soon the blue woman is knocking on my door once more, murmuring, or at least that is the volume of tone that reaches me through the solid wood, "Cato, it is time...!" I cut off Titania's words as I burst out of my quarters, in a much similar manner to lunch, but this time walk my usual stalk all the way to the living area.

My mentors are curled up on the couch, well, Enobaria at least has her feet tucked under her body, and Clove sits on the couch, directly facing impassive Moe, he being the only one paying no mind to the bright green man screeching excitedly about the event he has covered on this very channel for as long as I can remember; he is talking of the Reaping.

I plop down on the couch, my heavy weight causing the couch to groan in protest, my body sinking deep into the cushions as the springs underneath them compress. I do maintain a healthy distance from Clove, who sits in the dead middle, watching the man with interest, as if she has never seen how his assistant dodges his flailing arms by rolling frantically in a chair much similar to the one the green man is seated in, and take the end of the couch closest to the television.

Titania soon hurries in, calling, "Have I missed it?" as she perches herself on the arm of the couch. Like she could miss the Reaping recap. Even the shortened version takes about 30 to 40 minutes, possibly more if the anchor man covering the event takes a long time to drain his abundant enthusiasm. It seems it will be one of those years until the green man falls backwards and disappears behind the desk, and his assistant awkwardly clears her throat, "Now, let's get on with the main event, being commented on by our reporters Christoph Cilins and Alberto Rwed. Christoph, Alberto? Take it away!"

The screen fades to black until being replaced by the seal of the Capitol. Two male voices sound, introducing themselves as the aforementioned Christoph and Alberto. They must not fit the Capitol's image of beauty, as their faces are not allowed to be seen. They talk in hushed whispers, the same tone of voice they use during the Reaping so they do not take away from the show unfolding on the screen, and I do not bother to listen to their conversation. Soon, the Capitol seal fades away, too, leaving nothing but the blank, black screen.

Soon the red words 'District One' appear on the screen, and then we get a glimpse of the Capitol's favorite District, the District glitter has been sprinkled upon since it's foundation. I swear, the streets and building shine as the cameras view them as their own mayor recites the speech, and we also get views of their shops and goods; primarily clothing and jewelry, as this District makes the people of the Capitol look, by their definition, attractive. The female tribute, however, is the attractive one. With pale, blonde locks that fall to the small of her back and a shapely body, a tall, slim frame. But something about her, perhaps her obvious need for attention, or the obvious fact that she does a good deal of sleeping around, makes her unappealing to me, but not to her District partner. The man, his name is Marvel, has short, tan, almost curly hair and a muscly frame, stares hungrily at her as they shake hands and even as they are escorted off of the stage. What with the sponsors this Glimmer will bring and the strength that Marvel possesses tells me that they will be valuable allies for the Career alliance, and one look at my mentors tell me they agree.

Next comes my Reaping, or rather our Reaping, as the glamorous District One is briefly replaced by nothingness, then 'District Two' in the same red lettering, and then an image of downtown. Our District is the almost the largest, second only to District Four, but ours is the most densely populated, and the fact becomes even more blatant at the Reaping, as we are compacted greatly. They get a view of our tallest mountain, then swoop back down to Town Square, where they take a good view of the crowds of people gathered, from the youngest children to the oldest adults to the teenagers herded into the roped off sections. Titania bounds into view immediately, as they only show coverage of the mayor's speech once, and soon fishes Clove's name out of the Reaping ball. Clove's walk to the stage is slow, each step almost deliberate, and her face is stony; the cameras have even picked up the calculating glint in her eyes. She takes her place on stage, and Titania struts over to the other glass ball, fishing out Sean's name. The commenters gasp, obviously recognizing this is the name of a Capitol child. The cameras find Sean with surprisingly quick accuracy, and for the first time I see the fear that has totally consumed his body, and for the first time I see the intense look on my face as I lunge out onto the cobblestone path, the ferocity in the echoing shout, "I volunteer!" I smirk, satisfied with my image as a heartless, fierce young man, and know I am bound to have some of the tributes shaking and the people of the Capitol jumping to place bets that I will be the one Snow places the crown on.

Next comes District Three, a measly looking District with measly looking tributes. Bloodbath victims for sure. A smile I can immediately identify as sadistic crosses my face, as it has etched itself there many times before, as I think that I may be the one to kill them, the one who watches as the light drains from their eyes, the one who laughs as they whimper and scream.

District Four's gleaming coasts are the next to appear on the screen. The female tribute looks slightly strong, confident too, but the male is but 14 years old, and looks to be 11. I bite my tongue to keep from laughing at his obvious fate, stopping myself only because of the look of pain that flashes across Clove's face. Why am I doing this? Normally this would cause my laughter to become stronger, not stop it. I scowl, and return my attention to the Reaping.

An image of dingy District 5 is soon being displayed upon the screen, and then dark District 6, followed by forested District 7, and foggy District 8; the people being reaped all blending together, the only tribute that looks any different in both stature and appearance being remotely distinct is the flame haired girl from 5. Clove's sorrowful expression returns and the room is flooded by Enobaria's low chuckle as a boy with a crippled foot is chosen from District 10. I however am indifferent. I feel slight remorse that he must know he has no chance to live, he may be several unfortunate things that are obvious; but he is just as obviously intelligent. It is sure Eric Chastmuann can not trick himself into thinking he will be the victor. But I also feel glad, as glad as the measly District 3 tributes must be, that I have such easy competition to deal with.

District 11 is slightly interesting at first, only because of the obvious wave of sadness that even washes over Enobaria; a twelve-year-old is reaped. A little girl, who has barely begun to live is now sentenced to death. They say her name is Rue, the old fashioned word for regret, which much eagerly embrace all the females as they see the petite little girl walk up to the stage, trying and failing to mask the terror she is feeling. Then the male tribute is reaped, someone by the name of Thresh. I expect nothing grand, and am unpleasantly surprised to see a large man built like an ox, with large eyes of a deep brown hue the same color as his skin. He shows absolutely no fear, no emotion at all until he reaches the stage. As he towers over little Rue, pure pity flashes across his face, and he places a large hand on her shoulder in a protective manner as their escort introduces them to their District, the Capitol, the whole of Panem as the next people to compete in the yearly fight to the death.

Grimy and pathetic, District 12's little town flashes across the screen before the cameras come to focus on the pathetically small crowds at the Reaping. Their escort fluffs her wig and hurries to the first glass ball. She plucks out a name, the name of a blonde little girl who walks terrified down the path. Then I am taken aback by the two words that echo through the District after frantic shrieks of the little girl's name, "I volunteer!" There is a collective gasp in our cabin, and Christoph and Alberto gasp, too. There hasn't been a volunteer from the outermost District in decades, and it takes all by surprise. She introduces herself as Katniss Everdeen: sister to the little girl who was reaped. It makes me wonder if I would do the same for Bryan. And it is with some unfamiliar feeling that I admit the truth to myself much too quickly; I would not. The male tribute is a blonde-haired, blue-eyed 16-year-old, considerably less feeble than expected from District 12, as is this Katniss, who has gleaming grey eyes which seem to contain so much yet show so little. They shake hands and the Capitol seal replaces them. I sigh, the weirdest feeling originating in the pit of my stomach, an uneasy feeling that keeps me from dismissing the pair.

Enobaria turns to us, "Well, I believe that we have a lot to discuss. Strengths, allies," Enobaria pauses, before a ravenous smile captures her lips, "Weaknesses and your prey,"

"The tributes from One are a must, with the sponsors she'll bring and the strength he possesses." I suggest, though it sounds more like a demand.

Enobaria agrees with a curt nod, "Very valuable for your alliance, Cato."

"Don't you mean our alliance?" Clove inquires.

"No, Clove, I mean Cato's alliance. You must understand that you are a little bit small, too small, to be a Career."

The look on Clove's pale face is one of pure rage, and the way her mouth opens and closes without any noise coming out indicates to me that she is trying her very hardest not to scream every obscenity she knows at our female mentor. Slender hand shaking with anger, Clove slips her hand into her hair and pulls out the dagger. She holds it loosely in her clutch, before sending it whizzing through the air with the slightest flick of her wrist. Enobaria gapes at the precision of Clove's hit, the blade crunching through the center of the 'o' in the wooden nameplate of our mentor's name upon the door to her quarters nearly 25 yards away. Clove turns on her heel, spitting, "Fine, I wouldn't want to be a part of the Careers anyway. A bunch of vain, hotheaded, spoiled teenage brats?" Clove laughs bitingly, "No, thank you." She pauses in the exit to the living area, turning over her shoulder, angry glare etched upon her delicate features, "I can survive on my own. I have for the past 13 years." and the frame of my District partner disappears.

This strange interaction with my fellow tribute, her unprecedented temper, her icy relationship with Enobaria, only reinforces one thing, one of the only things I can grasp as true anymore.

There is so much I do not know about Clove Flare.

**Author's Note: **Here it is! Chapter 3! Wow... Clove's a feisty one, I hope I portrayed her that way. :D I'm having a little difficulty writing from a male's PoV so constructive criticism in either reviews, PM's, or reviews (I think you can tell what I'd prefer...)

Okay so first of all, sorry if I confused with the fact Sean is a Capitol kid. It's for the sole purpose of the epilogue (which will be as sad as I can write it to be :D) Second, Clove will definitely be in on the Careers... I just wanted to make it known that not all the tributes from the first and second Districts are ALWAYS Careers immediately... it's just a weird thing I wanted to incorporate.

I know I took forever with this chapter, I apologize, but I hope to have the next chapter posted on... Friday? Oh, I don't know... I'm not good with dates. So please read and review! It will make me happy... :D


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER:**** I do not own the Hunger Games or any of it's characters. All rights belong to Suzanne Collins.**

Chapter Four:

_I'm running. Running from something. Or someone. _

_I can hardly feel my legs, and my face is soaking with sweat, and I feel hot. My cheeks must be the deepest of reds, until I see something ahead of me. It is then I realize that I am not being followed; I am chasing this person. A brawny frame clad in deep black clothes, who is panting just as heavy as I am, and when he slows to glance over his shoulder, I see his brown waves peeking out from behind his hood, and see his startlingly light blue eyes that show blatant fear. He doesn't speed up once more, so I jump to gain the upper hand I so badly craved, and with my fingers barely grazing his shoulders, I manage to make him pause, and he allows me to bring my weight crashing down on him, pinning him to the hard rock ground. I take a breath, and absorb my surroundings. _

_I have chased this man from the outside of my house all the way to here, some alleyway between two shack like places in the most dirt poor part of town. He lays there, his attempts to shake free being prevented by my heavy weight, even though I am only 12. _

_I sneer in his face, and pull out the sword from the hilt that I attached to my hip. The blade glints in the dim light, and I give a low, throaty chuckle as I position it over the frightened boy's heart. I put on my most sadistic smirk and plunge the blade into his chest._

_And again. And again. And again._

I spring up in bed, panting. I rub the back of my hand against my forehead, and I pull it back, the scarred skin now soaked with sweat. I have had the nightmare before, though the word nightmare is slightly inaccurate. It's more like a reliving. A reliving of my first kill. The murder of my cousin. The death of Brandon King.

I swing my legs over the side of my bed, and begin to crack my neck, until I pause, leaving my hands placed upon my neck and head, taken aback by the sense of déjà vu that overwhelms me. I sigh, knowing that the past is already coming back to haunt me, and I stand. The fluffy white carpeting and dainty and quaint furniture is of such contrast to my stature it's comical, yet is so similar to my mother's style. I run a hand through my matted mess of blonde hair, realizing that today I will not shake the past, what has been. It is always so after I have that dream.

I trudge, each step exaggerated by exhaustion, into the cold bathroom attached to my room. The tile is frigid beneath my bare feet, and I eagerly jump under the hot stream of the water in the shower. The water hits my back rapidly, relieving the tension that lies in the muscles, and massage my thick neck, digging the pads of my fingers deep into the skin upon the twisted, tight muscles. I close my eyes, and tilt my head up into the steady stream.

Yesterday's talk with Enobaria did not go as well as she obviously hoped. Our mentor immediately began ranting about how conceited Clove was for leaving like that. Sometime amidst the swears and obscenities pouring out of her mouth for a good twenty minutes, her hard brown eyes began to soften and she cut herself short in the middle of a degrading remark about Clove's poor stature and appearance, and began to laugh. This sound of amusement differed greatly from her low, sadistic chuckle; it was more musical, it was light and airy and, if she weren't the fearsome Enobaria, who at the end of her games had a smile that dripped with crimson blood, I would say it was startlingly close to a giggle. Enobaria stood and mumbled to herself, "I believe that I like this girl." She made her way out of the cabin, calling, "She may yet have a chance in these Games." Enobaria paused outside the door to her quarters and pulled the knife out of the wood, and began to stroke the handle almost gently, and she mumbled in a barely audible tone, "She reminds me so much of myself." She grinned, and the golden tips on her strikingly white teeth shine even in the fading light, and she disappeared into her room.

Moe and I remained seated, and I could see the discomfort Moe was experiencing. Obviously Enobaria was in charge of such matters normally, and had been the past 7 years, probably even when Moe was a tribute himself. He hesitated before slowly asking me what I thought of each and every tribute, and calmly listened as I told him everything I thought. I mentioned the weaknesses I saw in the strongest competitors, and the possible upsides in the measly ones. But the strengths I pointed out were of very few in quantity, as I often laughed at the pathetic children, the ones so clearly sentenced to death. As I talked, Moe wrote frantically on a scrap piece of paper, and his left hand moved so often, the sound of the pen scratching softly on the sheet was heard so frequently, that I figured he must be writing down almost everything I was saying. When I finally had finished over examining the boy from 12, Moe held up his hand in a gesture that meant he would speak with me in a moment. He thoughtfully consulted his notes before scribbling on the paper. He smiled pleasantly at his work and showed me his efforts.

I saw neatly organized notes at the top of the paper, several sentences wrote beside the name of one of the tributes. Below was a chart, a table of sorts, that separated my competitors into sections: allies, threats, and bloodbath. The first two sections are self explanatory, and the last signifies all the tributes I think will lose their lives in the fight at the Cornucopia, or will be easily slaughtered after hand. The two tributes from one are under allies, and I see Clove is found under both allies and threats, which obviously means he doubts Clove will accept he invitation into the Career Alliance. All tributes from 3 to 10, excluding the female from 4, are under the startlingly long list of 'bloodbath' victims. The little girl from 11 is also on this list, at the very end. Her partner is under my threats and allies list, and both tributes from Twelve are under my threats list. I glowered at Moe, angered at the fact that he took my suspicion of them hiding something as fear. I rose from the couch and stalked to my room on the train, and did not emerge for dinner.

That was all that happened Reaping Day evening, aside from the idle activities I partook in in the sanctity of my quarters before I crawled into the king size bed. Did they do this purposely? To make the empty feeling in my chest, and undoubtedly in all the tributes, swell? I certainly felt so, staring at the abandoned side of my bed as the movement of the train softly lulled me to sleep.

I slowly wrench the handle in the shower to the right, effectively cutting off the water. I step out into the bathroom that is now flooded with steam, yet the tile still manages to be cold beneath my feet. I shake my head, water droplets flying off my dampened hair, in a similar manner to a wet dog, and attempt to forget the thoughts hanging over me. I must not appear distracted before my mentors, my escort, and Clove.

Broad figure clad in a simple grey t-shirt and coal black sweatpants, I emerge into the cream colored hallways, walking to the dining cabin. When I arrive, if I was suspecting to be alone, I would be unpleasantly surprised by the crowd gathered here. Our escort has taken the seat closest to me, the seat at the head of the table, and is wearing an interesting looking outfit composed of purple and orange plaid pants and a tank top of a faint scarlet hue, both of which fit her body in an extremely unflattering manner. Enobaria is dressed in a sweatshirt and sweatpants, both a dingy grey color, which tell all who lay eyes upon the tanned woman that she does not care in the least about the blatant and disapproving stares directed her way by the blue haired Capitol woman. Moe sits next to Titania, picking at his food, dressed in clothes similar to my own. Clove sits silent and still at the chair next to the vacant head seat, a plate of hot food sitting in front of her which she refuses to even acknowledge. Smirk already plastered on my face, I walk towards Clove.

I am soon idly chatting with the girl with the mysterious green eyes, all the while ignoring the obvious gestures being performed by my mentors to get me to invite her into the alliance. We are in the middle of our meals when I glare angrily at the ever persistent Enobaria, and clear my throat, "So Clove, ho-"

"No." she spits. "I will not just join your petty little group of Careers just because you ask me to!"

Enobaria jumps up from her seat, finger pointing accusingly at the girl across the table, but Moe restrains her as I attempt to regain hold of the conversation, "What if it's not just because we asked you to?" Clove seems taken aback that I would actually bother with this extra trouble to get her to join, and looks up from her food, capturing my gaze. "What can I do to make you join?"

Clove sighs, "The truth? Not some kind of lie to make him come off as cooler than I am? Or less pathetic?" I nod firmly, and my mentors pause in the middle of their silent struggle, Moe clutching to Enobaria's arm like a lifeline as she tries to crawl over the table to attack Clove for calling her precious Careers pathetic. Clove averts her eyes, and mumbles, "Don't make fun of me for my size. No comments about how small I am, or how scrawny, nothing." I start to laugh, and Clove lunges towards me, yelling, "You think this is funny?" My eyes spot the knife in her hand, and I immediately bite my tongue, shaking my head no. The knife shakes in her grasp, just as her voice shakes as she whispers, "Promise me. Just, do it."

"I promise."

Clove smiles, almost gratefully, and walks gracefully, each motion fluid as she exits the room. She pauses however, in the doorway, and places her hand upon the frame, calling over her shoulder, "Consider it an alliance."

Something about the confidence, the definiteness in her tone makes me smile.

"So," Enobaria says airily after our lunch courses are removed from before us, "Shall we discuss our alliances? Since now," Enobaria takes the time to smile slightly at Clove, "Our own is complete."

"I'll ally with the tributes from One and Four, as long as I can kill the blonde when it comes down to it. Something about her tells me she's only valuable for her looks," Clove pauses, a sadistic smile creeping onto her face, "It's going to be a shame when her hair and makeup gets all messed up."

"I agree with Clove, but I do not want the boy from 4 in our alliance." Enobaria agrees with me, as she enthusiastically nods when I speak, but the trace of pain appears on Clove's face once more, and she bows her head to hide the unmistakable hurt in her eyes, quietly mumbling in assent. _What is her deal? _I think to myself, shaking my head disdainfully at my District Partner.

"Oh, I'll be back soon. I would like to grab the recordings of Cato's conversation with me from yesterday." Moe stands and excuses himself.

"Attention all tributes, mentors, and escorts. Attention all tributes, mentors, and escorts." A high pitched, nasally voice drones into the train's intercom, "We will be arriving in the Capitol in a matter of minutes. Please make the preparations necessary to be off the train at Grandiose Station in approximately 5 minutes." There is a clicking sound and all falls silent, indicating she has nothing left to say.

"Oh, we don't need that strategy meeting now. You know you need to befriend the tributes from One and Four, and yes, you must befriend all four. If the tributes from Four have some connection, you ignoring him may upset the trust between you and her. But this is all simple enough," Enobaria waves her hand, brushing away the trivial matter. "If I hurry, I'll be able to fetch another drink. Do as you please; for one of you, this will be your last 5 minutes on a train." And with that Enobaria struts out of the room.

Neither Clove or I stand, we remain on the plush seats even as we hear the door to the cabin slam shut, even as we hear Moe take a seat in the living area, repeating our other mentor's words by telling us that we will discuss strategy later. The train quickly submerges into darkness, indicating we are in the tunnel built into the mountain, the only connection between the outer lying Districts and the so called magnificent city at the center of it all.

The rock we are barreling through greatly reminds me of home, as it does for my District partner, who rises from her seat and crosses to the windows, the barrier between us and they earth. She places her petite hand upon the glass, and in the reflection I can swear I see a tear sliding down her cheek, but the cabin is soon flooded by too much light to tell.

Clove gasps, and I join her at the large windows, finding myself also awestruck by the sight of the tall, gleaming buildings, bright, shining lights, and neon colored spectators who watch eagerly as the train rolls into their city.

The Capitol.

**Author's Note: **Not as descriptive as I'd like it to be and my shortest chapter so far... but it will do. I hate to keep my readers waiting like this, so I had to post this. I had an incredibly busy week, as I tutor, babysit, play basketball, and have loads more homework than last year because I just got into Junior High. Yes, I'm in 7th Grade, and that's why I so badly wish for acceptance and reviews because there is a lot more I could be doing with my time if no one likes my stories. However, due to NeonHedgehog, Randomcat100, rlyter3, LinskyRex, and Firnight, I know this is not true... But it's still nice to hear. :D

So, Cato's first kill. Kind of dark, but I had writer's block and that was the first thing I thought of that I could kind of expand on. Clove's request was just to show insecurity, that even she is human. Sorry if you don't like what I am doing to make her have more depth, this is just how I in vision her. Next chapter is about stylists, and then the chariot rides. Depending how fast I write the first part of it decides whether of not I add the chariot rides to the chapter. But we are in the Capitol now! Things can only get more exciting from here! And don't worry, Clato is going to happen in the chapter in between chariots and interviews. Ha ha it gives you something to look forward to!

I love love love you all for reading and please review! :D


	5. Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER: ****I do not own the Hunger Games or any of its characters. All rights belong to Suzanne Collins.**

Chapter Five:

From the first hour I have spent in the Remake Center, I now have no doubts that the stylists are as bad as Moe proclaimed.

We had stepped off the train, and each tribute tried a different approach. The boy from One tried his hand at the cocky attitude with that wry smile, and the girl from Five seemed concerned with looking sly and almost covering something up, hiding. The girl from One seemed to think that showing as much skin as possible and giving off the 'if you help me win the Games, I'd be more than happy to sleep with you' vibe with the winking and flirtatious smiles. She did have the eyes of several of the Capitol men, shouting her name, Glimmer- oh the names in the District of sparkles- and the eyes of her longing District Partner; but I paid her no mind. Clove and I acted above it all, the lights, the crowd, the Capitol itself. My trademark smirk proudly played across my features, and Clove's just as often used scowl only slipped so she could hiss a remark about how she plans to kill the girl who walked in front of us, which led me to let out a soft chuckle at her eagerness to get into the Arena.

We were then shown our rooms, each floor number corresponds to your District, and we were spared a few moments to do as we pleased. Mere moments until we introduced to our prep teams.

This is where I am now, being made 'irresistible and handsome'. As if I wasn't that already with a normal amount of hair on my chest and not specially done eyebrows. The plump, purple woman was in charge of my hair, and has spent almost an hour already uprooting hair from the follicles on my face and waxing various parts of my body so they were free of that 'nasty, unwanted hair!'

"We can't have our next victor looking like an ape!" she proclaims as she moves to the next section of my back, and the only male in the bunch enthusiastically agrees, but the petite female who is working on evening the tone of my skin pauses, her brush held slightly over my face, a fretful expression wholly consuming her face. She bends over to work on my forehead and whispers, "I'm sorry. Alexia is not used to the temper of the tributes from this District. She was upgraded from District 4, as they won last year. They were much more," she stops suddenly to dip her applier back into the makeup, "lenient and forgiving with her unfortunate comments."

"Francesca! Hurry quickly with his face! We need to coat his skin soon!"

The small woman sighs, and she begins to coat my cheek as she responds meekly, "Yes, sir." and she no longer speaks to me, sometimes contributing to the conversation between the plum like woman and the elderly man who tries so desperately not to show his age.

Francesca's skin isn't dyed, there is no color like the harsh green or the deep lavender of her colleagues that covers her body; she is comfortable with her porcelain skin, and the only obvious physical alteration are the wings in her back. As she flutters about the room, grabbing different items with which to coat my skin, she reminds me of an angel, with her blonde hair that falls in perfect ringlets down her back and her down to earth attitude and incredible politeness. She reminds me of the Fowler's, of Brad's little sister Marie Anne, so I spare her one smile, one smile only, and I do not spit my cruel and biting remarks at her.

"Okay, ladies, I think we can go fetch Suzanne!" The man - Louis - exclaims, and Alexia squeals happily. Francesca stands quietly and nods, beginning to pack up her tools. Louis starts instructing the woman still doing baby claps over her waxing efforts to put away her materials as well, and the way she obeys and Francesca quickens her efforts tells me he is the most experienced of the three, but even he shakes in fear as the door opens and reveals a striking young woman.

She is tan, more accurately bronze skinned, and the deep brown of her eyes makes it blatantly obvious that Alexia's are fake. She is tall and lean, the height being contributed to by her high heels, and possibly the illusion of her almost fully exposed sleek and sexy legs. She has an intricate series of black tattoos etched onto her face, swirling down from her forehead to her cheeks, before they blend into the hairline of her silky black waves, with golden highlights running through the black that brings out the gold in her eyes. She does not seem like someone from the Capitol, but she reminds me so greatly of Enobaria I'm slightly frightened they might be related, and the wry smile that reveals bright white teeth does nothing to alleviate my fears.

"I'll take it from here." She purrs like a cat, and steps out of the way and gestures at the open door. Francesca takes her leave first, followed by a far more frantic Alexia, with Louis taking up the rear.

"Hello, my name is Suzanne. I will be your stylist. Would you like to have something to eat? Or would you prefer to have a bite later?"

"Now will be fine." I gruffly beyond, and she gestures to the thin cotton robe that Alexia left on the tub, the one she removed when she started to wax down my back. I snatch it angrily and slip my arms into it, the material smooth, and looks increasingly ridiculous upon my stocky and tall frames. I tie it quickly, becoming uncomfortable with this woman who is so similar to my mentor viewing me bare and naked. Enobaria looks at me scrutinizingly enough, and I will do anything to prevent from someone who reminds me so much of her from seeing me without any cover-up, though I know I can't hide myself from Suzanne for much longer.

She leads me to a room, one that greatly reminds me of the living cabin on the train. She takes a seat on one of the plush sofas, her lithe frame barely sinking into the furniture. She calls up food before I even sit, and begins to lightly pick at the hearty meal that appears before her. I see a matching meal next to the couch opposite my stylist and I fall onto the couch and grab the fragile plate. As Suzanne begins to idly talk, I dig into the meal, placing a few nods of my head into the conversation.

"So. About your costume." Suzanne says in a bored tone of voice, fed up with the fact I am still choking down the food. I swallow and put the plate back onto the side table, ready to hear what she has to say. She grins broadly, her teeth shining, glinting, in the light, "Your major export is masonry and weapons, and you do enjoy your gory shows, no?" I look at her skeptically, but nonetheless nod. "So, do you know who also shared a love of these things?" I shake my head, still confused about what Suzanne is getting at. "The Romans. So we have decided to portray you and your little District Partner as Roman gladiators." And for the first time in what feels like days, I genuinely smirk.

Hours after my initial meeting with Suzanne, I am standing on a podium, with my back to a tall, ornate mirror. Suzanne is ordering around the trio that makes up my eccentric prep team as she begins to dress me in my gladiator outfit. Francesca is working on removing my visible scars, the stray marks that cover my arms, but I force her to leave the jagged line etched deep into my cheek. With the history behind it, I could never get rid of it.

_I leap backwards, dodging the swing of the sharp, menacing blade, and I am pleased at the angry grunt my opponent lets out. He wipes the sweat off his forehead, and then firmly grips the handle of the sword. I stand there, silently, sizing up my competition; yet am poised to leap, jump, and evade any attempt from my opponent to knock me down at any moment. He is far more tired than I, and is struggling not to show it. He lowers his weapon slightly, giving me an opportunity to attack. I lunge, and my arms encircle his lower abdomen, pulling him down. I pin him to the sweat covered mat, and wrap my arms around his neck. But, with the word, 'dead' hanging heavy on my lips, the boy whips his sword rapidly through the air, and he slashes open my cheek. I glower darkly at the cowering being beneath me, and I snatch the sword from his hand. I flip it to the blade is facing outwards, and I smash the handle repeatedly upon his skull, until he falls into a realm where he flickers rapidly between consciousness and not. I lean down in his face, and whisper, "Dead." and bring the sword handle hard and heavy onto his skull, watching happily as his eyes flutter close and he stays still. I leap from the ring and brush off the people who try to fix my injury so it will not scar; because I want it to remain. I want to have it as a reminder for my mistake. Now I will always remember the lesson I violated. There will be no mercy in District Two._

"He's done, ma'am." Francesca announces solemnly, and she turns away from me as Louis runs up to take her spot, clothing in his hands. Suzanne snatches the items and begins to add the final pieces of my outfit.

"Francesca?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Do you have the headpiece?" Suzanne asks as she slides the breastplate for the armor over my head. The petite woman nods, and she gingerly grasps an intricate piece of metal. It is bronze, a deeper hue than my mentor's skin, and reminds me a lot of the Victor's Crown. A simple band, but this has the leaves of the Roman crowns. It is all the same, isn't it? The Arena and the Colosseum? Both are a fight to the death, only one leaves the battle ground, and the winner rises from the dirt and presents themselves to the community, and for a few months, they are at the forefront of everyone's, even the rich's, minds. And as the metal is placed upon my head, I can not ignore the feeling that I will win the Games, that I will survive the Arena. And this crown is the first sign that my destiny will soon become reality.

"Now, turn around." Suzanne commands, and I silently obey. My body is reflected in the mirror, as are the delighted prep team in the back ground; the exaggerated jubilance on Luis and Alexia's faces, the pleased, satisfied smile that dances upon Francesca's, and the smug smirk proudly displayed across Suzanne's cutting and angular features, her chin jutted out in superiority. But, nonetheless, I grin at my reflection.

I do look powerful, menacing, but then again, when do I not? My large arms are fully exposed, the entirety of my muscles being shown. The armor like breastplate covers my torso, and I am wearing simple black slacks and and shoes. Louis hands me another 'accessory', if that's a proper term for a sword.

"Of course you'll have to keep it covered, and by your side. And you can't attack any tributes!" Louis cries after he places the weapon in my hands, and I mumble an incoherent response, to absorbed in my new possession. I have not touched a weapon in... well it has been only two days. But with the antics of those who surround me it seems as if having a weapon on me at all times would be necessary. I do not understand how Enobaria and Moe continue to come back, but I suppose Enobaria always has those teeth with her.

"Okay, come along, we have to take you to the chariots," Suzanne commands, and grabs me by the wrist with a shockingly powerful grasp.

"But what about Clove?" I blurt out all of the sudden, but soon close my mouth again. Why do I even care? Why do I bother myself with the small little girl?

"I'm sure we will meet her down there, but we do need to go." Suzanne mumbles hastily, and begins to drag me once more, and I put up no effort to resist as she takes me to the elevator.

The doors open after a surprisingly short descent, and I emerge into the chaos. Capitol workers are fretting about, running here and there, busying themselves with God knows what. Stylists, too, seem fretful, though there is not much left for them to do. Now it is all up to the tributes to either preserve or destroy their chance at life. Suzanne takes dainty steps over to the section of chariots closest to the exit from the holding area, and I follow so I can secure my alliance with the tributes Enobaria instructed me to befriend.

I walk as powerfully as I can, smirking smugly at the stares I am getting from my opponents, and how I can make their gazes drop with a single glance in their direction. I even see the tributes from One and Four looking at me with interest, and I walk purposefully and quickly to join them.

"Hi! My name's Glimmer!" the blonde giggle, the ruffles of her pink dress shaking as her body moves, the gems reflecting the light. She has on a majestic pink headdress, and her partner wears a pink suit, also adorned with gems, but less quantity than Glimmer has. "My name's Marvel," the man says, trying to sound confident. I stick out a hand for him to shake, and he obliges. The District Four pair are behind me, I can sense them, and can hear their heavy breathing. I turn slightly to the side and eye the pair. The girl seems strong enough, stronger than Glimmer at least, and seems to have some know how. The boy, as I imagined, is small, weak, and pathetic. But the girl, who introduces herself as Tara, stands protectively in front of him. Enobaria was correct, so I talk to both of them, letting them know they both have good chances to be in on the Careers.

"So, allies?" Glimmer asks airily, and everyone turns to me for confirmation. I shake my head no, "Not until my District partner gets here can I confirm that." To my surprise, everyone begins to laugh, and Marvel manages, "That little girl? You want that pathetic little girl on the Careers?" I lean into his face, about to tell Marvel she was far more talented than him, when we hear a bloodcurdling scream.

"No! I won't let you take that!" The voice screams, venom dripping from the words. Everyone in our group jumps, except for me. A wide grin spreads across my face, and I turn to survey the spectacle Clove is making.

Her stylist, a young man with pale green skin and cat eyes, is clutching a knife, a weapon Clove is pawing for. With one hand, the other occupied by a bronze and sliver shield, Clove manages to snatch the weapon from his hand and kick him to the ground with her high heeled boot, leaving him spluttering on the cement as she stalks away, both hands now occupied by a weapon. The four tributes that surround me gasp, but I only smirk.

"Yes, Marvel. Yes I do."

**Author's Note: **Okay. I know I promised the prep _and _the parade if I took this long, but I had serious writer's block. I will have the next chapter up probably tomorrow, since I am going nowhere, as I am sick. Thanks for waiting so patiently for this chapter, sorry if I disappointed.

Also, people may be confused about why Suzanne looks like Enobaria... It's just to reinforce that Enobaria is the terrifying one and that Cato has some fear towards her. Francesca looking like an angel had nothing to do with trying to get Cato to remember the Fowler's. It has to do with a girl in our town who just survived cancer, and I made the character after her. :)

Hope you continue to read and please review! :D


	6. Chapter 6

**DISCLAIMER: ****I do not own the Hunger Games or any of its characters. All rights belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

Chapter Six:

"I hate Capitol people," Clove mutters angrily, and begins to twirl the blade in her hand lazily.

"Guys, this is Clove." I announce, and the tributes that surround me snap out of their foggy daze and mumble what sounds to be a hello, "Clove, meet the Career Alliance." She nods apathetically, and continues to stare, fixated with the blade twirling in her hand, slipping through her fingers.

"H-hi! I'm Glimmer." the girl from One exclaims, her peppy attitude only faltering for an instant. Clove snatches the handle in her palm and closes her fingers around the blunt edge of the blade, and she spits, "I know who you are." Clove holds her increasingly dark stare at the blonde, waiting for the girl to cower under her gaze. But Glimmer does not break, she only smiles, and something tells me that the girl has never felt true fear.

Well, Clove certainly can't wait to change that.

"All tributes to their chariots! All tributes to their chariots!" a high pitched voice with a grating tone shouts, and even Glimmer cringes. We all grudgingly begin to move, and I easily jump off the ground, my shoes thudding against the metal of the chariot. Clove, however, is not able to do so because of her costume.

A skin tight, bronze color dress that covers every inch of her legs, yet her arms are left bare, and I can see the sleek ripples that run through them, as the scars I usually focus upon have been removed. She wears a breastplate similar to my own, yet hers is obviously more rounded out, having to cover her surprisingly large bust for her petite figure. As she continually attempts to leap up and onto the chariot, she fails each time, and looks spitefully at both the chariot and her costume. When she summons some inner determination to try again, the will to do so etching itself into her face, I reach out my hand. Clove laughs degradingly at my offer, "What good that will do me when I can't move my legs?" I sigh, and lean down, doing what I know will annoy her most; I place my hands under her arms and raise her from the ground, keeping her from another chance to get up alone.

"Let me go, Cato! Right now!" she shrieks, pounding her fists against my back, and I let out a low chuckle as I drop her. She turns from me blushing profusely, but manages to order me never to do this again before she composes herself, getting into her stony state. I miss the unguarded girl I just saw already, because I had sworn I had heard her laugh, and missed the melodic tone. And the blush, I would do anything to see it again, not to see that scowl constantly, but to see that small, heartwarming smile.

_Heartwarming? _I think, _No. Your heart is made of stone. You came here to leave with a crown on your head, and this little girl with just as small a heart can't change that. _I survey my surroundings as the bronze horse begins to pull forward, but my eyes always land on the determined looking girl at my side, _Or can she?_

The crowd of Capitol people erupt in cheers as they drink in the appearance of their first tributes. "No emotions, right?" Clove hisses, a bit of unsureness in her tone, and I nod, "Command their attention, but there will be no weakness to be found."

The lights are blinding, and the cheers are deafening. Clove places her hand on my arm for a moment as she loses her balance, but soon jerks back into an upright, stiff position. I eye her suspiciously, wondering why she snapped away so suddenly. _Do I really frighten her that much? She's the one who just assaulted a Capitol worker._

"Cato! Cato!" I hear female voices shrieking and I turn to face the noise. I see multicolored teenagers throwing themselves against the bar that separates them from us, but I do not send them a smirk or a wink; Clove and I remain as passive as statues, our hands raised, almost commanding applause and their attention, as would the gladiators when they entered the Colosseum. One of the old lessons we learned in the schoolhouse, the place only for the rich children and occasionally the actually smart poor rats, comes to mind. They told us of a gladiator, Spartacus.

_"He was a brave man, strong too. He went into the Colosseum, and came out. But he was not done. He led the slaves in his village and slaves from all over Rome in a revolt, to say they would not sit passively and watch their own be murdered, but the Colosseum fights still went on." Our teacher paused and looked us all in the eye, "This is so similar to the Rebellion. This is our punishment. Imagine what would have happened if everyone appreciated what the Capitol did for us; maybe then the Capitol would not have the Games. Think of this, and remember why we should stay loyal." _

_Everyone had nodded, had agreed, but I stayed in my seat with a sullen expression. I still did not think this was fair, these Games and what the Romans and our own governments had done._

And as I roll over the Capitol streets, waiting to go into a fight to the death, I finally realize how much like him I am, and how suitable this costume is.

Shouts of our names still echo through the streets after the appearance of other Districts, and "Glimmer" was still chanted by a chorus of male voices. Some momentum is picked up for the District Four tributes, but that's soon drowned out again by the cheers for the District Two tributes. I allow one smirk as the cameras focus elsewhere, but upon prodding from Clove, I regain my stony resolve.

I even hear jeers by the time District Seven rolls around, two pathetic tributes in pathetic costumes. Or maybe they are booing District Six; District Five was half decent, at least. Their costumes of power and factories was easier represented than transportation, and far more creative than the same, repetitive trees.

District Eight has simple yet elegant fabric dresses and suits, as they represent textiles. They looked so fragile and scared, and by the look on the other Careers faces and no doubt my own when we first see them, once we are in the arena someone will be more than happy to break them.

District Nine and Ten look very strange. The stylists of Nine had them in a muted gold outfit covered with strange patterns which must represent the grain, but I do not understand the silver accents. The boy from District Ten looks like a cowboy, but the the girl looks like a prostitute wearing a skimpy dress that slightly resembles a cowgirl dress. I am confused by the flaming accents on their outfits, and puzzle silently over them as the ox-like man and small, wispy tribute from Eleven emerge, until all becomes clear as the last pair of tributes emerge.

Ten was not the only District to use the idea of fire, but it is obvious which District thought of the concept first.

The tributes are on fire. Literally. I have no idea how it is possible, but there are flames coming off of the back of their black unitard. The boy seems so unsteady and overwhelmed, but the girl whose hand he is desperately clutching seems in her element. She waves and blows kisses to the crowd happily, and they react so positively to her, screaming for her and her partner. "Katniss! Katniss! Peeta! Peeta!" is all I hear even as we roll further down the path, people who haven't physically seen them yet staring at the screen with rapt attention and screaming their names mindlessly. I clench and unclench the weapon accessory in my spare hand, feeling increasingly desperate to use it on these two tributes. I try to ignore them, but their names bore themselves into my head, and I can not block out my surroundings as I used to at home and I find myself further provoked. Clove, too, is gripping relentlessly at the knife she conceals behind her shield, and scowls darkly for a moment, before her face becomes neutral once more.

We pull to a stop, and wait for the cheers to diminish so that the President can read his goddamn speech and we can go to our rooms in the tower attached to the Training Center and make a plan to kill the tributes from Twelve.

But the cheers do not cease, and neither does the all consuming feeling to kill, and I see that Clove, too, grows more and more irate as the cheers find a way to increase in volume. The President stands for minutes up on his raised platform, waiting for the spectators to quiet and a cue from the camera men to commence his speech. But neither happens, so the President begins to shout over the crowd, and they gradually quiet; and by the time the President has gotten quarter way through his speech, the crowd is silent save a few murmurs.

With everything quiet, I can finally think. I gradually calm, reminding myself that the chariot rides are merely the beginning. I will blow away their meager scores with the highest score in the Games, and my interview will make me unforgettable. Their stylists are the only reason Twelve is this popular, where as Clove and I have substance. They are still from the pathetic District Twelve, and we are from Two; we are strong. That is all that matters, for all of the Opening Ceremonies events are trivial in comparison to the Arena.

But when the camera wanders as the President talks, my grip on the sword handle still tightens as I see the tributes from Twelve's faces.

We start to move once more and the crowd starts up again. And although the shouts for the tributes from District Twelve are still quite prominent, I swear I can still hear the rhythmic chant of Cato and Clove as we roll out of sight.

Clove and I remain in the same stony silence as we finally pull back into where we started the chariot rides, but the scowl that now finds itself on Clove's face absolutely radiates hate and contempt. I leap to the cement floor and circle around the cart so I can help Clove down. But I see that Clove is already taking care of the matter by cutting the silky fabric of her dress up to her mid thigh with the knife she confiscated from the pale green man. Maybe this was the purpose of her wanting to have it in the first place.

I give a low chuckle, "You know, I doubt your stylist would approve of you doing that to your outfit."

The look I receive is venomous, and the words she spit are coated as well, "I don't give a damn what that bastard approves of." She hops down from the chariot, landing on the cement far more gracefully and quieter than I. I shrug, not wishing to further agitate her, and I follow her to the elevators, catching the same car as she does and the tributes from One.

We make idle chit chat as the doors remain open, but after they snap shut, Glimmer initiates the conversation of what we all know we need to talk about.

"So, not to seem desperate or anything, but," Glimmer leans over to me and starts to run her finger along my arm, "Are we allies, Cato?"

"What do you say Clove?" I ask as I push Glimmer off me, as she still repulses me, and I see slight happiness in my District partner's green eyes as she nods curtly. "Fine. You, us, and Four will be the Careers. We hunt down the male from Eleven and whoever else shows promise tomorrow, agreed?" Glimmer claps happily, Marvel shrugs, and Clove gives another nod. "Agreed."

We soon exit the elevator, having left the District One tributes moments ago as they, too, left the high speed compartment, and stalk into our floor. Enobaria is sitting cross-legged on the sofa, staring daggers at the television screen, muttering hateful obscenities about the information being announced in a muted tone, a tone with a Capitol accent flair to it. Moe stands behind our other mentor, his eyes also narrowed at the screen, and he speaks, in a tone much louder than Enobaria, "I can not remember a time where District Twelve started off with this much of a bang. Not even in the event as big as the Quell did Haymitch look anything that can compare to that."

"They will pay dearly for it. They will pay in blood, with their lives," Clove spits as she struts into the room, but she doesn't stop to take a seat. She goes directly to her quarters, and when questioned why she will not stay with us, she pauses in her doorframe, hand on the handle, and she mutters, "I've seen enough of the tributes on fire," and she slams the door behind her as she disappears inside the room.

Enobaria sighs, and she clicks off the TV, mumbling sadly, "I have to say I agree with her." She stands and walks down the hallway, calling, "Do as you please, but just rest up for training. You must be formidable!"

I sigh, and run my hand through my hair, exhausted by the days events. "Go to bed Cato. You know she's right." Moe tells me, and I nod. I trudge down the hall, and smash into my room, a spacious place carpeted with white, fluffy carpeting and a king sized bed with silk bedding. I strip out of my costume and fall into the bed, mind weighed with several questions, thoughts, and ideas. I sigh again and crawl under the covers, the soft material rubbing against my skin, giving me a cooling sensation all over. My head hits the pillow and I bury my head deep into it, trying to sort out the thoughts bouncing rapidly about in my head. But one shouts the loudest, one stands out above all.

_With the sponsors they will gain from this, maybe they belong in my threat category after all._

**Author's Note: **Yay! That was a really fast update but I felt I needed to get it out fast. Thanks for all the support! I love you all soooo much! Reviews are greatly appreciated, but above all, I just hope you continue to read and hopefully enjoy 'The Monstrous Boy from Two' :D


	7. Chapter 7

**DISCLAIMER: ****I do not own the Hunger Games or any of its characters. All rights belong Suzanne Collins.**

Chapter Seven:

"Up! Up! Do you want me to be the one to pull your ass out of bed?" I hear a female voice shriek incredulously over how many times I avoided and ignored demands to get up. I give out a low chuckle, and roll over and bed, preparing to ignore this demand as well. Enobaria would not really come in here, right?

I curse silently under my breath as the door clicks open.

XxXxXxXxX

"Cato! Oh, what a pleasure for you to join us!" Enobaria calls happily from her seat as the table, as if she had not just pulled me out from my bed and dragged me across the floor of my room until I promised to get dressed and come out to breakfast. I give her a shark like grin, and I can see her flinch at the cockiness and hint of danger in my expression. I slide into a chair and begin to eat, knowing I will need strength for the training.

"You guys know the plan, right? Make them fear you and recruit who you think poses a threat?" Moe questions as he hands his plate to an Avox. He's an early riser, I had heard him walking outside my room before dawn had broken, and he had already cleaned his plate before I could even take a bite of my syrup drenched pancakes. Clove and I both nod, saying that we did, indeed, understand our plan for the Training Center. Moe smiles, satisfied, and excuses himself from our meal.

I quickly devour my breakfast, and Enobaria hungrily tears through her own also, but Clove picks delicately at hers, only eating a slight amount before she excuses herself, too, so she can get dressed for training. Enobaria and I fall into an awkward period of silence, until Enobaria rises as well. "Well, I will go grab a drink." She struts over to the elevator and presses the button, which lights up a faded yellow. "You'll do fine Cato. You're a great fighter." She steps into the elevator and turns back to face my once more, sending me a smirk as she calls, "After all, I was the one to teach you!"

I sigh, though I know I am amused by my mentor and old trainer, and I depart for my room so I can go get prepared for Training.

Brawny frame now clad in a black t-shirt with red lining and dark grey sweats, I walk aimlessly about the floor, keeping an eye out for Clove as I wander. The small girl is not hard to locate, as she stands next to the elevator pressing the button with a bored expression on her face. Her t-shirt is made of solid scarlet fabric, and she has on black athletic shorts. She makes eye contact, and her neutral face betrays the lack of trust and slight fear flickering in her emerald eyes. "Took you long enough." is all I get out of her, as she falls back into a mute state when the elevator doors slide open again. I hurry to join her, my pace quickened when I see her leaning against the _'Door Close' _button. Though I send her a glare, I do give a slight chuckle. And as I hear her give a laugh, too, it makes me unconsciously smile.

I hear Clove gasp as the doors snap open, revealing the underground Training Center. I had only heard small bits of information about this place from my trainers back at my own training facility. My eyes roam from the impressive array of swords to the tall climbing wall to the field of dummies waiting to be shredded by weapons wielded by ones with immense power and experience.

"Gather round! Gather round!" a shrill voice calls, and I crane my head around, looking for the woman who had just beckoned us. The voice comes again as I register a tapping on my forearm. I look down to see Clove's mysterious eyes, the grey in them almost flickering as I stare at them. They are warm and inviting, but there is a hint of hostility, and smothered fear. I start to look closer, find myself almost lost in her eyes, when she speaks, "She's, uh, over there." Clove points a finger at a tall, athletic woman standing in the center of the area, hands cupped around her mouth. I nod in thanks to Clove, and as I walk away I feel her eyes on my back.

The athletic woman, Atala she says her name, begins to talk about our allotted time to train and what our trainers will help us with, but I tune her out, instead eyeing the weapons I already know I can handle perfectly and with absolute ease. I survey the rest of the room, but what catches my attention the most are the tributes, who stand there quietly, trying to avoid any and all eye contact with me and the other Careers.

Finally, Atala dismisses us from the center and I head straight for the swords. Being the first to move, I command the attention of the other tributes. I glare in their general direction, making them all think I am looking at them, as I drive the first sword straight through a dummy's heart. I smirk as they scatter from the center, horrified expressions plastered onto their faces. I laugh sadistically and turn back to the dummies, prepared to display my abilities.

The morning becomes a blur of shredded dummies and perfectly executed spear throws, and soon Atala calls out for us to stop and to proceed to the lunch hall. I drop the machete I am learning to properly throw and oblige, walking with Marvel, who had been teaching me in exchange for a sword lesson, talking about who we need to recruit for our alliance. "Thresh is a must, but are you seriously considering anyone else?" I ask, and Marvel shakes his head, only inputting, "I just don't think the boy from Four should be allowed."

"But you have seen the way they talk? They only seem comfortable with each other, and I'm sure that she would much rather take her chances with him than abandon him and stay with us." Marvel and I both jump, surprised by the sound of Clove's voice behind us, but I think that Marvel is surprised by the cleverness in her words. "Well, how will we get rid of him when we need to?" Glimmer asks, hopping in on our conversation, though I highly doubt she knows who 'he' is. "I don't know, Glimmer," Clove puts extra emphasis on her name, "Maybe kill him in the Bloodbath when she's distracted?" "That makes sense..." Glimmer intones, and Clove begins to laugh, making me smile slightly. "Yes Glim, it does! Isn't it fun to use your brain?" Clove walks ahead of us, leaving the blonde standing there, opening and closing her mouth though no sound comes out.

XxXxXxXxX

I stand in line, waiting to get food with Marvel and Clove. Glimmer decided to go talk to Thresh, or, more accurately, we decided she would be the best. Marvel isn't the most outgoing, Clove's too sullen, I'm too confrontational, but Glimmer could convince anyone to do anything.

Anything, apparently, except for talking Thresh into joining us.

"He just, laughed at me. Told me he'd rather die than join us." Glimmer says in a downcast manner as we turned to her, eager for the result of what Thresh had to say. We all become irritated, and I attack my food angrily, but Clove seems more pissed off than I am, "Well he will die! Slowly and painfully." she snarls.

Marvel tries to lighten the mood, and Clove tries to play along until she inevitably ends the conversation with a scathing statement, dripping with sarcasm and contempt. For some reason it makes me smirk, but I am slightly confused. We were taught social skills, how to pretend to care and to get someone to trust you, far better than that at the Center; surely she did attend? How else would she deal a knife like that? But I think about the way she throws her knife, how graceful it sails through the air; it varies so differently from how the trainers teach us. Could she have never attended? Is that why she harbors such distaste towards the stockily built and cocky Careers?

"Lunch period is over! Please, return to your training." I stand, sighing as I do so.

"Well let's get... Woahh!" Clove shrieks, toppling forward as Glimmer walks straight into her back. I lunge to keep her from hitting the ground, but Marvel, the closer of us two, secures a vice like grip on her forearm. He grins eagerly, expecting Clove to spring to life and start spitting insults at the ditzy blonde, but she does not. She starts screeching, and leaps away from us all. She looks wildly about, a searching, unsettling gaze flickering on her eyes, until her eyes land on Marvel. Her body decompresses as she sighs in relief, and she smiles weakly, "It's only you Marvel. Only you." "Well, who'd you think it was?" She goes rigid once more, but she just shrugs it off, "I don't know. I just don't deal well with people touching me." "Why?" I glare at Marvel, but she does not seem bothered. She just traces patterns on her arm, where her scars used to be, and mumbles, "Bad memories."

"One! Two! Hurry it up!" the voice screams again, and we hurry out of the dining hall, eager to get our hands on weapons once more.

XxXxXxXxX

"Yes, arms just like that. Now raise your sword and strike," I behead a dummy with a sturdy and heavy sword with ease, "Like so. Now you try." Marvel instead stares impressed at the dummy's head, rolling on the cold, cement ground. He places his sword back on the display table, and mumbles, "I'll just leave the sword stuff to you." I chuckle humorlessly, and walk away from the station I have spent the majority of the day at, determined to learn something new, from the best teacher I can think of: knives with Clove.

"Hey, Clove. Mind if I throw a couple daggers?" Clove eyes me with little interest, probably angered that I distracted her from her throwing knives, "Be my guest."

I pick up a small knife and throw it as I would a spear, with as little care and delicacy as possible, making Clove gape at my awful form. She flies to my side and clutches onto my hand, making sure I do not throw the next knife as poorly as the first. I laugh, and she scowls disdainfully up at me. "Here, start with something larger, with a little more weight to it." Clove gestures to the knives at the left end at the table, and I snatch one with a harsh, curled blade. She places it in my hand, forcing my fingers to curve more delicately than normal around the handle. She positions my arm in a significantly different position than the way the kids at training prepare to throw, and the release is so different, too, that the words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them, "You don't train at the Center, do you?"

"I do, just, not like you," Clove admits, and the questioning look on my face causes her to begin to gush out information, "I'm not rich, really, I'm quite poor. They kind of stuck me and my siblings away, out of sight, along with the other orphans. They wouldn't accept me to train during the day, to attend the classes. They only let me train at night. No supervision, no trainer, just me, 4 of the other best orphans, and the weapons." A sad smile creeps onto her face, "The knives. Oh, how I loved them. So small, so delicate. Yet unbreakable. Like me."

"Clove, I-"

"No, I know you didn't know. I've come to terms with what ended me up on that street." She grimaces, "It's what happens there that unsettles me the most." Clove pauses, and looks at the knife in her hand. She throws the blade blindly, and it sticks in the bullseye. "I've had enough of knives for today. Could you teach me how to use a sword?" "Of course."

I lead her to the station, and place a small sword in her hand. I try to lead her through the steps by displaying them myself first. But she does not grasp the concept easily, and she swings it in a lopsided arc instead of a straight slash. I demonstrate several times, until I decide that this is not reaching her. I cross behind her, "No, like this, Clove. Here," I wrap my arms around her own, cupping my hands over her own and gripping the sword as well. She goes rigid once more, and I immediately remember that she doesn't tolerate physical contact. I begin to retract my arms when she nods, "Okay. I'm ready for you to teach me." And for the second time today, I smile.

XxXxXxXxX

The next day of training passed similarly to the first, yet I spent much more time observing the other tributes. I found no one else worthy of the Careers. Enobaria praised us for what we reported we achieved in the Center, and Moe told us to learn new things. I attempted the climbing wall once, before working on the running course, and saw Clove breezing through the fire starting stations with ease, and did much better than I would imagine on the gathering stations.

"It's going to be a big day! Private sessions!" Titania calls cheerfully at breakfast, and Clove and I nonchalantly nod. We have been training for this day since we were kids, we are not worried for performing in front of the game-makers.

"Speaking of which, Enobaria and I would like to give you some advice." Moe then proceeds to elaborate into a complicated web of words that have something to do with the session, but I really do not pay attention, only perking up when Enobaria's scathing laugh floods the room, "Here's better advice: Only use weapons you know you can handle and absolutely no screwing up."

To these words, Clove and I nod once more.

XxXxXxXxX

"Glimmer Czarinano!" The bland voice rings out again, this time summoning the other half of District One. She hops up onto the tips of her toes, and struts past the Peacekeepers standing by the doors. The doors pull closed again, and the small murmur pick backs up again.

I turn to Clove, "So how long do you think Glimmer will take?"

Clove shrugs, "Depends on how long it takes her to figure out how to take off her bra by herself."

I can't help myself, I start to laugh loudly at Clove's comment, hinting at her conclusion that the only way the blonde would even get a meager score would be by stripping herself for them; and even though the tributes from Three and Four turn to stare, I laugh even louder when Clove's shy, little laugh floods the room, too.

"Cato King!" the voice demands, and I rise from my seat, getting into my stony, emotionless state, barely registering the good luck Clove shouts as I leave the waiting area.

The Gamemakers are standing in their deep purple robes, watching me eagerly as I step into the room. Food has not yet been served, so I command the full presence of the men and women in the bleachers as I walk with confidence over to the swords.

I pick up a menacing looking blade, and swing it about, finding its weight. I grin, and start cutting through the moving dummies. I thrust into the internal organs, shredding their major veins when my sadistic side bleeds through, and even make a few decapitations.

I then go to the spears, and begin to throw them two at a time, both hitting the bullseye on the target simultaneously from a good 15 yards away. I even hit the rapidly moving targets a little farther behind.

Then I just randomly browse the center, even swinging a machete and throwing a couple knives. Once I complete my final station, the knives. I stop, and bow to the Gamemakers. They all instantly cheer, and a few even shout, "Victor of the 74th Hunger Games!" The Head Gamemaker is the only one who does not cheer, he instead scribbles on his pad of paper, nodding satisfied, until he pauses with his work, shouting, "Thank you, Cato. You are dismissed." I bow once again and turn to take my leave, pride and pleasure swelling inside me at my performance.

XxXxXxXxX

"So, how did you two do?" Moe asks over our dinner we are all eating quickly, knowing the televised scores will be on any moments.

"I threw my knives, and I never missed. Not once." Clove says, a smug overtone to her voice.

"Very good. And you, Cato?"

"I'll let the highest score in the Hunger Games say how I did." I say cockily, and I can see Enobaria hiding the proud expression on her face. She always took pride in my success, being my main trainer at the Center, always claiming she was the reason behind it all. But she never led me to my failures, no matter how few and far between they were; never was she to blame when I failed.

"Well, let us find out your scores! The revealing of the scores is beginning!" Titania calls, as we all flock to the sofas.

Marcel's face comes up, a nine. Well, it wasn't not to be expected. He was very talented with the spear. Glimmer's headshot then flashes across the screen, along with a bright red eight. Reasonable scores, both of them. They are only to be expected of the Careers.

My face comes next, and I am pleased they have managed to capture my imposing side with a tiny smirk playing across my features. I am also pleased with the number, a ten. The smirk on my face doubles he size of the smirk in my picture.

Clove's face comes next, and they have captured her in the rare occurrence where a scowl does not plague her face, but rather a innocent smile. But the number is anything but innocent for a small, 15-year-old girl to achieve; a ten.

And, to my surprise, the smirk does not slip off my face to be replaced by a scowl at having the same score as Clove, but a small smile replaces it, and I sit there content with our work as the Districts slip past, the only score not being to meager being the 7 the girl from Four receives.

But this, this seems pathetic as the small girl from Eleven pops up with the same score after Thresh and his score of ten had fades away.

I am further surprised when the blonde boy from Twelve gets and eight, the same score as Glimmer. Clove and I look away from the screen to share a wary glance; he should be watched out for.

Cursing from Enobaria is what brings my attention back to the screen, and I soon find obscenities slipping off my own tongue as I see the score that surpasses my own on the screen. And eleven for the volunteer from District Twelve.

Clove shakes in silent rage, but Enobaria and I spit out vulgar, ruthless statements about the tributes from the outermost District for minutes as one thought settles deep into my head.

I had said the highest score in the Games would tell my mentors how I did, and it did.

It told them I did not try hard enough. Or that maybe, I may be bested by this Katniss Everdeen. The Girl on Fire.

**Author's Note: **Sorry this took so long, I had writers block and a headache. Tried to tie in some Clato... speaking of which. We now know Clove is an orphan and the scars that fixated Cato before were from people who she didn't want near her touching her. Lol, sorry if its kind of lame, I tried my best. And I had to have Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire end the chapter when she just got the eleven. Thanks for reading and favoriting and following and reviewing and just... Thanks. I love you all! :D


	8. Chapter 8

**DISCLAIMER: ****I do not own the Hunger Games or any of its character. All right belong to Suzanne Collins.**

Chapter Eight:

I emerge from the steamy bathing room, hair still damp despite my attempts to dry it with the towel that rests around my shoulder. I rummage through the wardrobe, searching for something though I know Titania will probably force me into a suit to practice proper posture and such for my interviews. _My interviews, _I mentally sigh thinking of how the entire day will be spent with my mentors and that blue haired woman. At least Clove will be there suffering through it with me.

Breakfast passes quickly, as Titania rises eagerly in the middle of the meal and promptly drags me and Clove by our wrists into her quarters.

She is well prepared, as is the room. She has the two chairs that normally take up the area by the grand windows placed directly next to each other as well as a silk, red dress and a shiny, black suit draped over the edge of the plush bed. A shockingly long list of key points lays upon the side table between the two, muted green chairs, as well as a crude looking stick, with which, I would presume, you correct posture.

"Take a seat! Come, come, don't be shy." Titania calls, gesturing to the bed and to the chair opposite the one she slides into. I fall into the vacant seat, and Clove seats her lithe frame on the bed, therefore facing me directly, but she seems more fixated with the peculiar hairstyle and ensemble our escort has worn today. "Cato! Please, put on the suit if you insist on going first!" I shrug, just wanting for this day to be done with already, and follow her order.

Once I am again seated, Titania asks if I have had practice with these events before, and I nod, grin plastered onto my face. She then instructs me to sit up tall, and I do so, already knowing that I would see the woman beam at my perfect form. She runs me through how to sit in different occasions and how to walk properly, but I really do not learn much. I already know it all. I trade seats with Clove sure of my abilities to present myself as I want to Panem.

Clove however looks absolutely terrified as she sinks into the seat, meekly shaking her head when Titania asks if she had any practice beforehand, flushing a deep red when Titania clucks her tongue distastefully. Our escort directs her to dress in the outfit she laid out. She slips out of her clothes and into the dress without her back turned, giving me a full view of her chest. But I surprise myself by not fully focusing on her breasts, but I focus on her ribcage; her shockingly prominent ribs and how lean she really is.

I do not mention it, but Titania exclaims, "Why are you so dreadfully thin!"

Clove flushes once more, but looks Titania in the eye as she responds, "I would go days without eating back home so my twin sister could live."

"Well, why didn't you just split your meals?"

Clove sadly shakes her head, "Cassi has a muscle degenerative disease that will slowly kill her if she doesn't receive the proper treatment. I wouldn't eat so she could get her medicine."

Titania and I both stand in shock, until our escort manages to be the first to speak, "Well, is it better now?"

Clove shrugs, "I get one meal per day from the Center, that's basically it. Jayla is our source of money, and she has her meal at where she is... employed. So all our money goes to Cassi's care and a little extra food to put in our cabinets." A small smile graces her face, "One week, I smuggled all my food home so Cassi could have it and I could take a small part of Jayla's earnings. That was my deal, money in exchange for food. I was eventually able to buy my first knife, and all it took was going to sleep hungry for 6 days."

"Oh, Clove, I-"

"No, I don't want your pity. It was totally worth it." Clove's smile is oddly genuine, as are her words.

We are left in silence, until I eventually make the connection, "That's the knife you wouldn't let your stylist take, isn't it?" The way Clove's eyes light up in pride and glee tell me all I need to know, "It's a good one. Almost dainty, yet strong. Just like you." Clove manages to smile even brighter, and the color that rises to her cheeks matches the hue of her dress.

Clove learns fast, and soon she can walk in the stilettos Titania makes her wear with the floor length gown. The posture, too, was easily mastered by the diligent and determined Clove, and our escort was soon shooing us from the room claiming, "You two will make District Two so proud!"

Lunch is downed as quickly as breakfast, though Moe is patient enough to wait for me to finish. Enobaria, however, is crabby with boredom, and jerks Clove up from her seat as soon as she slides into the chair. Clove does not seem greatly bothered by the fact she does not get to eat the food on her plate. As she said before, she is used to but one, meager meal a day, so I'm sure going without lunch will not be to much of a strain upon her.

Moe leads me to his room, where he has two chairs set up in a similar fashion to how Titania had. I am slightly let down by the lack of Clove's presence, but I know it will be easiest to prepare this way. I follow Moe's lead and take a seat.

"Okay, Cato. It's pretty obvious how to present you. Solidly built, frightening cockiness and confidence, startling ease with weapons, a bad temper that often gets the best of you, a drive to succeed at what you focus on; you're the monstrous boy from District Two, and that is how you will be portrayed to the Capitol. To the world." Moe states, without a shadow of doubt in his voice, and I wholeheartedly agree.

It takes some time for me to grasp this identity, even though it is so familiar, because I 'must not make the Capitol believe I also want to kill them all after I return from the arena.' Well that's absolute bull, because there is nothing I'd rather do than to spill precious little Capitol blood the way they have in our Districts. But, I need the sponsors, so I do as Moe instructs me.

I am let go early after Moe runs through the questions Caesar Flickerman will be most likely to ask and deems me beyond ready. I wander the floor without a purpose, until I hear 2 voices screeching in the background. _Clove and Enobaria. _

I turn, smirk on my face, heading back to Enobaria's quarters.

XxXxXxXxX

"Come on! Just one typical persona! Please!" I hear my trainer's voice plead. Enobaria pleading, that's a first.

"I told you! I'd be no good at sullen because no one care about the lifeless small girl." There is a slight pause, until Clove lashes out again, "Even if the girl is a Career and got a 10!"

"Okay, but that only rules out sullen."

"Well, sexy will be blown away by Glimmer; Cato's doing the angry, brutal approach; and do I look like the girl who can gab, flirt, or gush? No!"

"Stop being impossible!"

"I'm being realistic! I'm nothing like that!"

"Just fail for all I care!" Enobaria snaps, and the room falls into a silent lull in conversation as my mentor stalks out, brushing past me, too angry even to care I was eavesdropping. I peer into the room and my eyes instantly land on Clove, who sits in her chair, arms crossed protectively across her chest. I walk in, and am met with a stony glare.

"What do you want?"

The third word is stressed so harshly, dripping with such distaste, I am taken aback. I try to send her a smirk, but my expression morphs into a scowl, "I heard yelling so I came to see if you were okay, is that such a problem?"

Clove's frown slips into a slight pout, and her hands fly to her face. I hear a heavy sigh escape her, and am taken taken aback by the defeat in her tone as she murmurs, "Please, just leave me alone. I don't want to talk."

I let out a sigh of my own, and slip out of the room as silently as I walked in.

XxXxXxXxX

"All done! That wasn't so bad, now was it?" My least favorite prep team member chirps happily as she packs away her hair trimming kit. I am at a loss for what she could've been doing for an hour after that horrible waxing treatment I received four days back.

"Let's call Suzanne!" Louis once again exclaims, and he and Alexia race like children out the door. Francesca carries the grooming supplies out the door, closing it delicately behind her.

The door is thrown open violently by my frantic stylist, screeching, "Oh, we are so late! The interviews start in an hour and a half you know! What were they doing to you!"

I shrug, unsure of what my baths in green and purple slimy grit did to me, not unsettled in the least about us being behind the Capitol's master schedule. I am more concerned with what was wrong with Clove last night than I am about being on time for the interviews.

Suzanne attacks my face with a container in one hand and a makeup applicator in the other, mumbling to herself about how minimalistic she would have to go. Fine by me. The less makeup the better. Once there is an even coat applied to my face, Suzanne snatches a suit very similar to the one I wore whilst my training with my escort and helps me into it. As she places my orange tie around my neck, she murmurs, "Don't mess this up for yourself. You show promise, and somehow, you're different from the rest." I hear Moe yelling for us to come quickly, and Suzanne pushes me towards the door, calling, "Make your District proud, Cato. Do it for your father." I stare back at her, and see her misty eyes and know that she's not one of those Capitol people who just suffered a loss of a victor, but she knew him. I nod, small smile on my face, and leave the room.

XxXxXxXxX

"3 minutes until the interviews begin!" I hear a Capitol accented voice shout and I press up against the wall where we are told to wait, Clove standing tall in front of me and the girl from Three cowering behind me in my shadow. I smirk almost happily and start whispering to Clove.

"What's your angle?"

"Mysterious yet lethal. You?"

"Brutal, bloody. That sort of scary vibe."

"It suits you." is her less than steady response, and I smirk, knowing I have stricken Clove with slight fear, but fear nonetheless.

I hear Caesar Flickerman being introduced, and Clove tilts her head to look me in the eyes, the grey in her own flickering, almost changing, and mouths 'good luck' as we start to move forward.

"Good luck, Clove." I murmur back to my District partner as Glimmer struts out onto the stage.

The cheers are deafening as the pair from One emerges, and the lights prove equally as assaulting to the senses as we step out, too. Clove stumbles, and I stretch out an arm to steady her, "Easy now, Clove." She springs forward as i make contact with her skin, and stalks to the third chair in the ring of 24 that surrounds Caesar and an empty seat for the interviewee. I smirk easily at the crowd, behind Caesar's very amusing, over exaggerated movements to pull reactions from the crowd. Once even the tributes of Twelve are seated, Caesar begins talking about the whole process. I sit passively in my chair, waiting for something to happen, for Glimmer, in her extremely provocative dress, to cross the hardwood stage and waste her three minutes delicately dancing around the questions so she can answer them in the way that she wants to attract sponsors. So then Marvel can do as he pleases, and Clove can pull off her angle, so I can just get my interview done.

"And now, for our first interview, Glimmer Czarinano!" Caesar eventually calls, and the blonde does strut flirtatiously across the stage, flaunting off her chest, though not much is left to be imagined through the see through, golden and glittering fabric. Her interview is almost pointless, a flurry of winks and warm, flirtatious smiles; the only point she hammers home is that she most certainly is single. I almost find myself laughing, biting down hard on my cheek to prevent it, as the statement is most blatantly false.

Marvel tries the same cocky attitude he had when we first got to the Capitol, and with this much longer face time, it fails. He looks like a boy who isn't the persona he tries to pull off, he is cowering behind a personality he can't properly fulfill. And the 3 full minutes of this may be more hilarious than Glimmer claiming she's single.

"Next, Clove Flare!" Caesar booms much too excitedly as he smooths his pale blue hair. Clove takes her place, the fabric of her orange dress wrinkling beneath her. He greets Clove happily, and she gives him one of the sweet smiles she's only shared with me while we've been here, and I find myself... jealous? No, I can't be jealous over Clove, I don't care for her that way. I can't.

"So, Clove. What's your favorite part about the Capitol, so far?"

"I... The lights. They are so, so amazing. I've never seen something so bright. Now I know there's nothing lurking in the shadows."

Caesar continues with trying, to no avail, to fish out responses he can work off of from questions centered around the Capitol and the Games, which Clove responds she's prepared for, until Caesar starts asking about Two.

"So, how was life growing up? Splendid, like the tributes of One?"

Clove shakes her head, "Far from good. I don't like to talk about it, and neither do my sisters."

"What about your parents? Were they not good to you?"

"My father was not sane the years leading up to his suicide, and I never met my mother. I survived on my own," She gives a wistful smile that is almost a smirk, yet something softer, "That's why I will survive. I am strong, and I will prove it. I will win these Games because I need to."

The buzzer dings, and Caesar snatches her hand, raising it as he bellows once more, "Clove Flare, everyone!" She rises, smiling softly, and takes her seat once more next to Marvel. She really did capture the essence of mystery, as she wouldn't delve into the reasoning behind some of her peculiar statements, and her 10 in training was proof enough that she was lethal. I almost miss Caesar shouting my own name, but cross the stage confidently after only a moments hesitation.

"Hello, Caesar," I greet as I sit in a laid back manner in the white chair. He says a pleasantry in response, but I am trying to get a feel of the crowd. I look out over them, and see some are bored, others talkative, and some are teary eyed after Clove's story. They are far too emotional here; I hope they aren't brought to tears seeing the son of a passed victor. I need to grab their attention with a captivating, yet scary performance. I turn back to Caesar in time for the first question.

"Cato, are you or are you not the son of Jacob King?"

The crowd gasps in a distressed manner, and only one thought forms in my mind, _Screw you, Caesar._

I immediately try to regain hold of the situation and drive them away from pitying me, so they will fear me, so they will think I will win these Games, which I will, without a shadow of a doubt. "Yes Caesar, which is exactly why I will win. All my life I have wanted to follow in his footsteps, and I have trained for this moment all my life. And I will win, for him."

Cheers ring out in the audience, and I smirk at them confidently. Caesar even seemed pleased by my answer, he didn't need to ask another question so the audience could see my true character, for I had done enough myself.

"Well, I'm sure that your father will be watching you these next few weeks. The whole world will be watching!" Caesar exclaims happily, and the crowd cheers back. "So, tell me about this training score. Second highest in the Hunger Games! Any hints about what you did?"

I shake my head, shark-like grin on my face, "No Caesar, I'll just let you be surprised tomorrow. But I will say that my kills will be quite memorable." I turn to the tributes behind me and let my gaze flit across all of them for an equal amount of time. They all cower behind my gaze save the Careers, and Clove even smiles.

"Now, Cato. Do tell, what will be your strategy? Will you side with the careers?" I bite my cheek again to prevent myself from laughing at this redundant question. Did he not see how the Careers smirked at my words? Of course we are allied!

"Yes Caesar, the traditional alliance is secured. We will stay together until I start the inevitable breaking apart."

"You will start this?"

"Of course! As my father said, people are only of value until they prove their worth. Once they prove their worth, and they know the extent of their abilities, they will do anything to undermine those in power."

"Oh, so you're the leader?"

"But of course!" I smirk, "I am the strongest, and I am the most prepared. I'm a ruthless killer and ready to go, and now there's no trainer to hold me back."

The buzzer sounds, and the crowd erupts in an ecstatic uproar. I give my shark like grin once last time, before turning to go back to my chair next to Clove and the still shaking girl from Three. "Good job." Clove whispers as I fall into the chair. "You too," I smile back, and Clove almost blushes as she turns back to the next person to be I interviewed.

The tributes blend together, each with the same value and each as interesting as a piece of blank paper. No detail, just a nervous wreck of a child who quakes when a question is thrown their way. Even the ever diligent Caesar can't get a response out of the mute, crying girl from Six, or get the sly girl from Five to answer any of his questions in a straight forward way, or ease the crippled boy from Ten into talking without a quaver in his tone.

The little girl from Eleven is preciously small, like a tiny little treasure you need to keep a firm grip on at all times to even know where she is. She sits quietly, and pulls off a humble, innocent angle that even I believe must be her real personality. She is extremely polite, even thanking Caesar as she flutters back to her seat after the buzzer sounds for her, too.

Thresh. My blood boils when I hear his name, and Clove stiffens beside me as well. Glimmer seems extremely agitated yet embarrassed, yet Marvel doesn't seem to register the presence of the giant man. He looks asleep, fighting off unconsciousness as the night drones on. The 18-year-old answers Caesar's questions with a single word, sometimes a simple sentence when it involves his home life, but the man is sullen and boring as he rumbles his responses. They reverberate in the building, though, and you almost don't have a choice but to listen to his words.

"Next up, the lovely Katniss Everdeen!" Even Marvel is angered now, I at the point of seething silently through my teeth. The 'lovely' tribute happily walks to the stage, and smiles brightly, her eyes fixated, staring pointedly at a certain section in the crowd. We glare as she talks about her favorite part of the Capitol, and Clove begins to shake as Caesar brings up the eleven in training. Even Glimmer seems more irritated now, and we all scowl at the girl as she obliviously continues.

Soon, Caesar brings up Katniss' gem covered dress, and she leaps to her feet to give everyone a better view of her gown. She says something about her stylist, and then she begins to twirl. The line between the stones starts to blur as she spins, and it begins to look as if flames are engulfing her legs. The audience gasps and cheers and shouts and Clove makes a sound like she's coughing up a hairball, and I let myself chuckle softly. The camera won't pick it up if they're so focused upon the spinning girl in the center of the stage.

The 'Girl on Fire' as Caesar calls her, then falls into the announcers waiting arms, giggling about how dizzy she was. Marvel murmurs something about disbelieving her score. "He thinks they typed in the 1 key twice by accident," Clove informs me, and I smile yet again. It wouldn't surprise my after this ditzy, yet shallow performance.

She humanizes a bit as she talks about her sister, and it brings back that unfamiliar feeling I got when I realized I wouldn't volunteer for my brother. But, it does nothing to improve my view on her, I still am angered by her very presence.

Not soon enough, the girl's buzzer sounds. She leaves, small smile on her face, and her District partner is beckoned to center stage.

This Peeta character calms us all, and we are also perplexed yet amused by his antics. The first question is about the thing here that is farthest different from his District, to which he responds, 'The frighteningly puzzling showers' The crowd is eating out of his palm as he and Caesar go back and forth, sniffing each other for they both believe the other smells more like roses than themselves.

They then begin talking about if Peeta has a special someone, to which he half heartedly replies with a no.

"Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?"

Peeta sighs, and proceeds with the classic heart felt story of loving a girl forever, yet she hasn't known he had existed until he was reaped for a vicious fight to the death. Okay, in retrospect, it's not totally cliche.

"So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?" Caesar encourages, but Peeta remains downcast as he tells his interviewer and the whole of Panem it won't help him if he wins, for she came here with him.

The crowd is silent, taken aback, as are all the tributes, except for me. I sit there, frozen, paralyzed with absolute rage. I have always hated the pity vote, and of course this year it will go to the tributes who pose the greatest threat to me with their scores and the sponsors they already have lined up.

I block out the ending conversation between Peeta and Caesar, hoping, praying, yearning for the moment the sun will rise once more so the 74th Games can begin; because with all this anger, I have more fire than the tributes from Twelve.

**Author's Note: **Eep! Sorry sorry sorry it took so long! I had writers block! :P

Hope this chapter is satisfactory and reviews make me post faster... And they make me smile. :)

(\_/)

(^.^)o The bunny will give you a virtual hug and I will thank you in my next author's note if you review for me!

o(")(")


	9. Chapter 9

**DISCLAIMER: ****I do not own the Hunger Games or any of its characters. All rights belong to Suzanne Collins.**

Chapter Nine:

"Unbelievable! Just absolutely... ugh!" Clove snarls as we stalk away from the herd of tributes once we leave the stage. I do not respond, just continue my silent seething. Clove peers curiously up at me, and the look of confusion is soon replaced with concern, "Cato? Are you okay?"

Her hand sneaks up to rest on bicep, and I jerk away, spitting, "What? So you can touch whoever the hell you want, but no one can touch you? You obviously over estimate your worth."

I instantly regret the words when they leave my mouth, seeing the angered, yet pained expression on her face, "I never..."

"Oh, Catokins!" I hear an airy voice call, and I hear Clove give a guttural growl as we see Glimmer bouncing towards us, Marvel tagging closely behind, obviously upset by the fact he can't see her front. It is then I realize how close I am to Clove, and I begin to back up slowly, before being yanked backwards almost violently by the ditzy blonde. I chuckle, at Clove's distaste with our ally as well as the way she stalks away from us, looking back with a shocked look, rapidly pressing down on the call button for the elevator when she reaches her destination. I am puzzled by the shocked expression and the frightened look in her eyes, but I don't give it too much thought. I turn back to the tributes from One as Glimmer whispers with equal distaste, "What's with her?", the blonde's nose wrinkled to emphasize her disgust.

"Yes, she is very sullen, lifeless. She won't bring sponsors. Let's just kill her in the bloodbath." Marvel suggests. I glare at him, and shake my head, indicating I would stand for no betrayal. I shrug Glimmer off of me and go wait for the next lift to my floor.

Thankfully, the ride is silent, which I think has something to do with me, as the rest of my companions are far to fearful and cower, whimpering in my shadow. I smirk as the door opens, and I exit, whispering in a sing-song voice, "See you tomorrow for your death sentence." I chuckle softly at the horror filled gasps that flood the compartment as the doors snap shut behind me.

I walk into the living area, where the petite frame of my District partner on the sofa, her brown locks pooling in front of her face, covering her hands, too, as she leans forward with her elbows on her knees.

"Clove?"

The words come out of my mouth, and I immediately wish I could reclaim them when I see her face come out of her hands. She is silent, but tears are spilling over her cheeks. Her eyes are red, and they connect with mine for a moment, until her breath hitches before she begins to openly sob. I am surprised, and walk over to her, sliding onto the couch next to her, delicately snaking my arm around her stomach. She turns to me, obvious distrust flickering, coming, going, and changing just as often as the grey in her eyes. Her bottom lip quivers, and she collapses against my shoulder. I place my hands on the small of her back, making small circles on her back like I saw Dad do to Mother when he was alive and she was stressed.

Clove chokes out a couple words against my shoulder, "Just because I'm sobbing, doesn't mean I can't kill you."

I laugh, "I'll keep that in mind, Clover."

She laughs, the opposite reaction I expected from the pet name, and with a smile on her face she levels her gaze with mine, until fear seizes her expression, "You're not Ronnie."

I stare uncomprehendingly at her, unsure, "Who's Ronnie?"

"He's my childhood friend, my only friend. Beside my sisters, but still. He's the first one to understand and to care about me. He called me his Clover, because I was so small yet so unique, and was his lucky little treasure, because like he understood me, I understood him."

I find myself curious about the only man to befriend Clove, and I can't help myself from asking about how they met.

Clove smirks at me, "It's not the most grandiose setting to meet someone in, and he had me pretty ticked."

"It can't be that bad."

"Okay, so the story starts when I was eleven, and Jayla had just found her way of making money."

"A job, you mean?" I prod, trying to figure out what Clove's home life was like.

Clove laughed humorlessly, "No, it is most certainly not a job, but is as physically arduous as one." I am about to open my mouth again when Clove silences me, "I'm not sure I trust you enough to tell you yet. I am a remarkably good judge of character, kind of comes with just living where I do." She looks at me apologetically before shaking her head, as if clearing out all the excess thoughts and notions and ideas, "Anyway, I can tell you I was greatly disappointed in her choice, aggravated, too, and I just wanted to forget. I snuck a little bit of money out of her earnings pile and ran down to the bar.

"Now, you're probably thinking how the hell I could be permitted to drink at that age, but things are different in my area of town. You know how outside the center of the District there are different villages? And they are all named different things ," I nod at Clove's words, "Well, I live in the unnamed one... better known as 59th Street." Clove gives a slight laugh, "Ronnie has a very vulgar name for our little village.

"But it's true. Everything's different. Everything. The laws, the regulations, the people," Clove sighs, "They have no spark in their eyes. It's like they're already dead, and it's so dreary. No one gives a damn about anyone, not even themselves. They'd probably be most pleased if the area was destroyed, and so were they.

"But I was telling about how we met. I went to the bar, and ordered one glass of vodka. One little shot. I took a whiff of it as a group of young men burst through the door, each of the 6 standing crowded around the counter. Two, a man with blonde hair and a red head kept peering over at me, and the red head reached over and knocked the glass of alcohol out of my grasp. I remember snarling, 'The hell was that?' and the boy calmly explained he meant no harm. He just didn't want me drinking at my age. I snapped back that I had been through a lot, and, just as calmly as before, he said the same went for him. I was slightly at loss for what to say, when he introduced himself as Ronald Muljuno, and I then introduced myself in turn. He asked what I was doing here, and I told him that it was none of his business. He looked at me calculatingly, and said without a shadow of a doubt, 'It has to do with Palo's, doesn't it?' I asked him how he knew, and he just shrugged, remarking about how physically guarded I looked around men."

Clove sighs, a small smile playing across her features, "He said not to worry, that he would never hurt me like those monsters would. He was pretty good at protecting me, as was the rest of the Shiv Gang."

"The Shiv Gang?"

Clove giggles softly, "Yes, the team of gangsters from 59th Street. Those 6 men who walked in. They were brought together by one very twisted child with one very twisted knife."

"The knife was twisted?" I question, and Clove bobs her head up and down, "How so?"

"Vlad, the boy, bent the metal in a way that if he stuck it in over the kidneys it would spear them before tearing through the lining to the stomach. As his victim was dying slowly and painfully, Vlad would cut patterns into their skin before writing his name in perfect handwriting across his victims neck. They would then bleed openly, and Vlad made them watch the blood pour out, then forced them to lap up their own blood like a dog until they drowned in it." Clove catches my incredulous stare, and she shrugs, "Told you he was twisted." She looks away before shuddering, "The worst part of all was that Vlad thought he was doing the right thing. He was so little and naive and-"

"Naive? Little? How old was this man?" I interrupt, voice dripping with contempt for such a despiteful creature.

Clove glares in return, "He wasn't a man! He was a boy!" she averts her eyes once more, "A very disturbed 9 year old boy." I sit there, puzzled with how a 9 year old could do such a thing. The place for the poor was worse than I thought. Clove looks at me, bottom lip trembling, "He was Ronnie's best friend, the pack leader of those six men. Vlad corrupted them. They haven't been the same since they discovered Vlad's... method."

I look at her, before asking tentatively, "Clove... can I tell you something?"

Clove raises an eyebrow, before she nods, "Sure, if you want."

"I... I don't want you to think that I am spoiled. I mean, hell yes I have money," I chuckle humorlessly, "But I have no one. My sister hates me, my brother's scared of me, my fathers dead, and my mother doesn't know who I am anymore." I sigh and run a finger through my hair, and I see Clove staring at me, as if it's all starting to make sense to her. I smile wryly, "I only have two friends, and even they are afraid of the badass Cato facade I put up. It's not really me, but it's so much easier to be that."

Clove clears her throat, "So that makes two of us." I eye her suspiciously, and she rolls her eyes, "Two of us who don't want to lose one of the only people who looks at them and doesn't see a monster."

I stare, dumbfounded at Clove. Her words make so much sense, and that shocks me. _I'm actually listening to her. _She opens up so little, talks so little, she gave no clues to the real her. She was a puzzle, and he didn't want to miss anything she said because of it. I give a slight smile at the girl sitting with me, making note of how the freckles that cover the bridge of her nose and along her cheeks are the same color as her chocolate waves, "You're right."

XxXxXxXxX

"So, those interviews went... as planned."

"As planned?" Enobaria snarls at her fellow mentor, before she spits towards us, "You two were well enough. But love sick puppy dog from Twelve blew you away. So pray to God your sponsors stay loyal and that you won't die true first day."

"Seriously, Enobaria? This is how you want one of us to remember you?" I ask incredulously.

Enobaria ponders this, before grinning, "Yes." She stands and begins to leave, smiling her sharp toothed smile, glinting with gold over her shoulder, "I'll leave the sentimental good lucks to Moe. I'll tell it straight. Don't die." and she disappears around the corner.

"Well, this is goodbye. I wish you both the best of luck, and sincerely hope one of you will return." Moe says formally, but I can tell he cares about us more than he is letting on. I grin at him, and Clove gives her small smile, as Moe gestures to the two figures that approach us: our stylists. Suzanne's luscious black waves are very distinctive, and the look of pure fear on the green man's face tells me Clove hasn't had the best experience with her own stylist. Suzanne has been one of the few I have tolerated, so I can't say my experience was to awful. But my smirk graces my face when Clove lets out a guttural growl.

_Hold on Clove. Not too long before you can tear apart your opponents, let out the blood thirsty, animalistic side of you._

And the look on Clove's face tells me she is longing for the moment.

XxXxXxXxX

"There. All set." Suzanne says, voice void of emotion as I slip my arms into the jacket. I nod curtly as I make a move to get myself in the tube that will carry me into the arena. I cross the tile, and am about to step up onto the small disc inside the tube, until I am pulled back. I am about to snap at my offender when Suzanne pulls me into a hug. An awkward, friendly hug, albeit, but a hug none the less. I stand stiff in her arms, and remain so as she whispers, "Win Cato. I can't stand to see you die. I already lost one King I prepped for the Games. Don't let me lose another."

I nod curtly once more, and step into my tube.

The glass slides down, encasing me almost immediately. I spike up my hair in the front, and poise as menacingly as I can.

The tube begins to rise, and I see Suzanne waving goodbye out of the corner of my eye. I let my suppressed smirk play across my lips. Better make them think I'm cocky and confident that I'll win. That will be better than just menacing.

I am soon blinded by broad daylight, and I smell trees before I see them, and hear water softly lapping behind me. I am finally able to make out the green of the pines, the figure of Lover Boy to my right, and the shape of the bright, golden horn in the center of it all as Claudius Templesmith's voice sounds, "Ladies and gentlemen, let the 74th Hunger Games begin!"

**Author's Note: **Awkward collection of stuff... I guess the Cato Clove heart to heart was a little unprecedented, but I needed Clato for this chapter because I love it and I needed Cato to know it about her, since I highly doubt Clove would say that with all of Panem as her audience. C;

Its a little bit short... but its what I wanted to say. Thanks for reading and please, please, please REVIEW! :D


	10. Chapter 10

**DISCLAIMER: ****I do not own the Hunger Games or any of its characters. All right belong to Suzanne Collins. **

_**WARNING:**__**This chapter contains mild language and gore (it's the Bloodbath, so, ya.)**_

Chapter Ten:

60 seconds. That's all. One minute until the gong sounds. Step off before then and your blown sky high. I see a few of the children surrounding me lifting their feet, before stamping it back down on the platform, ashamed with themselves for their pathetic, suicidal thoughts. I turn my gaze towards the shining horn, contemplating whether or not to run for the spears or the swords. _A sword will be easier to manage, _and I shift my weight to the right.

I try to estimate the time left, a difficult task as time seems to slow about me as the seconds tick by. Even the motions of the people around me seem to slow; the smirk Clove sends me from the last podium I can see before the horn obscures my view, the tribute from Nine shifting slightly to the left for the fastest escape from me as possible, the subtle shake of the head Lover Boy sends in the direction of the bitch on fire. The girl that will suffer at my hands, by my weapon, and she will be shown no mercy for what she has done to me.

I leap off the elevated disc as soon as the gong sounds, my reflexes proving better than I thought as I run towards the Cornucopia, towards the grass that is sure to be covered by blood at the end of the afternoon. I snatch a sturdy looking sword, and to test it's weight, I send it swinging towards another tribute trying to sneak by me. It hits him square in the chest, puncturing the area next to his heart. He collapses on the ground, giving a final spasm as the blood pours, until he stills.

His spilled blood sends adrenaline surging through my own, and I go through my little high that killing brings me. Disgust then surges through me just as eagerly, so I search for my next victim so the bliss can smother all other feeling.

I slice at a young girl I recognize from the elevator ride, and she panics. Screeching, she brings both her hands to her wound and then she tears desperately at her hair, staining both with blood. Tears roll down her cheeks and a choked sound slips out of her throat as she throws herself on my sword. I pull the weapon out and step to the side, allowing for the body to fall to the ground with a thud and a sickening crack. I shake my sword, sending excess gore flying, and hunt my next prey.

I am in a rush as the bloodbath continues, and I rip through another girl easily. I cripple a young boy by slicing his hand clean off. I return to him after retrieving a new weapon to finish him, and identify him as the boy from Six. I start with a single thrust of my sword through his chest. His body quivers violently from the pain, and his scream pierces the air before I twist the blade. His breath catches, as breathing proves to be far to painful, and then his breath comes raggedly, accompanied with little whimpers. With a new determination, I lean in harder on my sword, and after a small whine, the boy's chest ceases to rise. I smirk, satisfied, and free my weapon from the dead body.

I circle around the horn, looking for any stragglers. I send a spear hurtling towards the escaping girl from Seven, knowing it's in my best interest to stick close to the Cornucopia, and continue with my search. Marvel is using his machete to rip through a small girl, and Clove throws a knife with startling accuracy and speed into the back of a retreating redhead, and the tribute, blood as deep of a hue as their hair seeping out of their back, falls flat to the ground like a paper weight. Glimmer is seated next to a mountain of supplies inside the horn, daintily nibbling on a cracker as the girl from Four lurks nearby, filling her pack. That's when I see the small silhouette in the background.

The boy from District Four creeps into view, crawling out of the shadows created by the golden structure, blood splattered on the side of his face. I want to swear, as I forgot to terminate him earlier, and know I must kill him now before the girl from his District figures out he is still alive. He can't be killed quietly after this.

I sneak up next to him, and clamp my bloodied hand over his mouth. I easily drag him out of the sight of his District partner, and hurl him to the ground and stomp a boot into his neck before he can call out Tara's name. Clove approaches me, incredulous expression on her face.

"Why isn't he dead?" she hisses in a hushed tone, looking nervously in Tara's direction.

I glare at her. Was it not obvious? I forgot about the damn kid. I ignore her questioning gaze, and turn back to the boy trying to wrench his way out from under me. I kneel over, one foot still firmly planted on his throat digging into his esophagus, and hiss back, "Cover his mouth."

"I doubt he could scream with a 200 pound boy placing all his weight on his neck!" Clove snaps back, but nonetheless places a hand lightly across his mouth. She leans down and whispers something to him, and I immediately begin to smirk, thinking that she is whispering something sadistic to him. The smirk falls off when I see the boy relax and his eyes brighten up. They are smiling, just like the lips conceals by Clove's porcelain hand must be. That's when I remember that this is the kid Clove has had a soft spot for since the Reaping recaps. I shove my weapon straight into his heart, not prolonging his death for my petite, brunette ally.

We both leap backwards as we hear the sounds of fighting from the opposite end of the horn, and I sheathe my sword and Clove conceals her knife, as to not frighten a possible ally. We slowly sneak around the golden Cornucopia, and one is always scolding as the other steps on a twig or loses their balance and bangs softly against the metal of the horn. As she softly sneaks along, each step dainty, she reminds me of Ashen. My female best friend and Clove are so similar in demeanor it is frightening, but it is also startling how stark of a contrast their personalities are. But as I find myself almost chuckling at Clove's snarky attitude, I begin to realize which personality I prefer. And as I snap back at my District partner and she in return gives me a scowl, I begin to question how I put up with Ashen all these years.

We come into view of two blondes clashing violently, both clumsily using a sword. I immediately recognize the one facing us as Marvel, with blood slipping down cheek, and I watch Clove creep up behind the boy with his back to us, knife in hand. She hisses at him, and the two adversaries drop their weapons immediately.

"Turn around, so I can see you." I demand, and Clove steps out of the way so the boy can do as I ask. He slowly turns, his body apparently protesting the movements, shown by his slight limp and the grimace on his face when I get a good view of his face.

A smirk crossed with a sadistic smile plays across my lips, "Hello, Lover Boy."

XxXxXxXxX

The canons have just begun to sound when my District partner and I finally reach an agreement with the boy from Twelve. He retreats to the side of the meadow, downcast with his deal that he must tell us all he knows of the Girl on Fire and come hunting with us every night until we find her. Because once we do, Clove and I will make the bitch suffer, and then Peeta will be forced to watch as we kill her. And once he does, this part we haven't yet told, we will savagely slaughter him, as well. And then I will thrust my sword into his non-beating heart as many days as he made us wait for that blissful moment.

Glimmer happily chirps from her post organizing the supplies with Tara that eleven canons were counted. Eleven tributes are dead.

Twelve left to die.

Marvel returns from his brief walk around the meadow the Cornucopia is in the center of, reporting he neither found nor heard anyone severely injured to finish of in the surrounding area. I want to be cross with him, but I can not fault him. There was no one to kill, so I silently direct him to the supplies and follow close behind.

Clove is in a stony state as she sorts through the supplies, ignoring Glimmers attempts at conversation that drove away Tara moments before. Marvel, too, picks up on Clove's bland attitude, and mutters under his breath, "Sure you don't want to just kill her now?"

"Absolutely positive. I'd much rather kill you than her." I snap back much too quickly and defensively.

Marvel shakes his head in a pitying manner, "You don't care for her. Trust me. She's just your last piece of home and you don't want to lose her. That's the same reason I keep Glimmer around." I disguise my biting laugh with a cough, and can't stop the smile from spreading across my face as I process how ridiculous this statement truly is.

The smile turns to a smirk and I manage to keep my mouth shut, only letting myself murmur, "You don't know people as well as you'd think."

XxXxXxXxX

"All set, Catokins!" Glimmer laughs merrily, flinging herself against my arm, and I shrug her off. I do not want to incite thoughts of a romance between Careers for the Capitol people, especially not with her. Clove smiles slightly as her eyes lock with my own, and I feel my guard start to slip as I smile back. Glimmer sees this small interaction and humphs, "We finished sorting. We also filled our pack so I would suggest you do the same," Glimmer is dense enough to lean against me once more, murmuring something about her being thoughtful, and I push her off again. She glowers at me, before her eyes catch Marvel glaring jealously at me, and she hurries off to attach herself to his side, Marvel smiling as he readily accepts the blonde's unprecedented attention.

I sigh, and roll my eyes, heading over to the pyramid of sorted supplies. The food has obviously been sifted through, but it is to my pleasure I find the weapons untouched, save the knives. Clove has removed every single one and has lined her jacket and belt with an assortment of daggers. I attach a sword to my side, and place two shorter, sturdier ones in the pack I snatch from the pile. I stuff the empty pouch of the black pack with food: apples, berries, dried jerky, and other scraps of meat. I swing it over my shoulder and scoop up a spear as I stalk back over to where Marvel begins to pitch the tents. I slip the bag off my arm and let it fall to the ground, before I begin to help the only other male in the bunch.

Glimmer pipes up, "Where will we sleep, Catokins?"

"How about in the tents they're setting up, Glimmer?" Clove spits sarcastically, and the blonde recoils, until a new light captures her face.

"Oh! I found those in the supplies!" she chirps energetically, "But there are only four, guys. We'll have to double up."

We all understand that by 'I' means 'Tara' and by 'found' means 'saw her find them', but no one says anything as we all silently ponder Glimmer's valid point. Marvel and I finish the second tent, and I shout, "Hey Lover Boy! This tents for you." Peeta springs to his feet, nodding rapidly, and ducks into the shelter, under the rough, canvas material. I sigh as we move onto the next tent, "C'mon guys. Who do you want to sleep next to?"

"Um, I- I wouldn't mind, sharing with Glimmer." Tara pipes up, eying Clove as she rubs her knives together, fear capturing the blue eyes of the tanned girl.

But the girl from One only clucks her tongue, "I don't know, I'd rather get to know one of the males in our alliance a bit better."

"I wouldn't mind sharing with one of the ladies!" Marvel calls from the other side of the tent, and I give a genuine laugh.

"Cato, would you like to share with me?" Glimmer ignores her District partner as I lean down to stake down the first corner.

"No." I say simply, and I suppress a loud laugh when I see the look on her face. It's as if someone gave her a gift wrapped puppy and then murdered it in front of her shining, emerald eyes.

She humphs, and falls into the ground, mumbling, "I'll go with Tara."

"Then I guess I'll take Clove." Marvel says, a twinge of seductiveness in it that makes me shudder. I look up, expecting Marvel to be cracking a cocky smile, like he does after he says one of his unfunny jokes, but I see him glancing with something like hunger or lust at my District partner.

I glare, glower, and curse under my breath, but when Marvel starts to move towards Clove, I shout, "Don't touch her!"

Everyone stares at me, shocked into stillness.

Marvel recovers first, sneering, "Oh yeah? And who made you the leader?"

I growl almost inaudibly, so only Marvel could hear, "Me and that sword made me the leader. The sword that I can easily use to gut you, strangle you with your entrails, and then behead you as you attempt to scream for mercy that will never come." Once my words are out there, I realize I might have slightly over reacted. But I will allow no one to question my authority, no one will find weakness in me.

Marvel's eyes widen to the size of saucers, and he begins to meekly nod, "Yeah, and- and you know what? I'd- I'd rather sleep alone." He scampers away shoving his stuff into the first tent we pitched and then disappears, as well.

I quickly finish pitching the last tent, and I gesture to it, "There you go, Tara. That's your guys' tent." The two fling themselves into the tent desperately, as if they can't get away from me fast enough. "Get some sleep!" I shout, looking at the sun beginning it's slow descent in the sky, "We hunt at dusk." I am about to duck into my tent, when I realize that Clove is still out in the open. I look over my shoulder, and see her sitting in the grass, rifling absent-mindedly through her pack. "You okay with keeping watch?"

She shrugs, waving her hand, knife in clutch, dismissing the trivial matter, "I'm not tired, and besides. I hardly sleep anymore, anyways." I open my mouth to question, but Clove silences me with a glare, "It's fine, Cato. I'll wake you for next watch."

It is my turn to shrug, and retreat into my tent.

XxXxXxXxX

Clove doesn't wake me. She doesn't wake anyone. Not until she calls out that the sun is setting, at least.

I am the first to emerge from my tent, sword already reattached to my hip, and find Clove in the exact same position she was when I left her hours earlier. She eyes me, and I see a single tear line that runs down her face. The tears, of course, have run dry, but she seems far from upset. She is almost void of emotion, on the cusp of anger. She turns away and begins twirling her knife. A golden handled knife. A dagger that looks a hell of a lot like the blade Clove wrestled from her stylist. I eye her suspiciously, and Clove jerks her head to the left, the direction of her brown backpack; where I see a silver parachute tucking out of the corner of her bag. I smile and Clove grins, as well, still twirling.

Marvel stumbles out of his tent and over to the pile of supplies. He grabs 3 apples; one he sticks in his mouth, a second is thrown in my direction, the last in Clove's. I catch my fruit with my free hand and Clove holds out her knife, the apple getting stuck on the blade as it rips through its skin. I smile once more, taking a bite of the bright, red fruit, and go take a seat next to Clove.

Glimmer and Tara are the next to appear, and Tara looks squeamish as Glimmer asks her a question. The brunette shakes her head slightly, and Glimmer awkwardly pats her shoulder, murmuring something that makes the girl grimace more. I raise an eyebrow suspiciously, eyeing the other Careers, seeing if they have any idea what is being said

Clove only shrugs, "Your guess is as good as mine."

"Maybe it has something to do with the hunt tonight. She was relatively fine before, so that's my thought. Call it a hunch, but I think that's what's happening." Marvel calls with a mouthful of apple, the tart flavor exploding across his tongue with every bite.

I nod, and turn, shouting, "Hey Fish Girl! Blondie! Over here!" The girls meet me with a glare, but begin to trudge over.

"What?" Marvel places his hands on his chest, feigning offense, "No nickname for me?"

"Sure there is. You're- Sparkle Boy." I tell him, the look on my face so serious, Clove finds it comical.

"Sparkle Boy?" Marvel asks incredulously, "Why not Marv? The Marvster? Marvelous? Marvelously Marvel? Marv-"

The boy continues to drone on, and Clove turns to me, "And who am I, oh, great nicknaming master?"

I smirk back, "You're Clover, of course." She gives me a small smile, accompanied with a light, pink blush that dusts across her cheeks.

Glimmer and Tara arrive, and I tell the latter she will stay to guard tonight. She looks so relieved, as if the weight of the world has been lifted from her shoulders. She tries to disguise it, fearful it is not Career-like, and nods once, taking a seat next to the supplies. Glimmer realizes with a start that she will be in on the hunt, and hurries to eat something and grabs her sheathe of arrows. The weapons are beyond Glimmer's expertise, the ones she shot with in the center were beginning level weapons. She will surely be incompetent with these far more difficult to handle ones.

"Come on, let's hunt." I say confidently, swinging the pack up over my arm, pulling Clove and yanking Marvel up as well. Glimmer hops behind us when I stop abruptly, causing my allies to stumble forward before they to halt. I crane my head around, and shout, "Lover Boy!" The blonde immediately stumbles out of his tent, looking up at me, "You coming hunting or what?"

He hurries over to our little pack immediately, struggling with his limp. Marvel moves him along with a push square in the back, and the boy from Twelve coughs out, "But I don't have a weapon."

"Here," Clove pipes up, throwing a knife from her belt to Lover Boy, "You can borrow one of my knives for the night." He catches it with startling ease, but remains still. Marvel, eager to get going, snarls Twelve's name and prods him in the back with the blunt end of his spear until Peeta begins to move ahead with the rest of the herd of tributes, and we make our way through the thick foliage, deep into the woods.

Clove leads us, using her advanced sense of hearing to listen for tributes, wild animals, or mutations that are heading in our general location, and she leads daintily, walking without a sound.

I, however, am not so graceful. I clunk through the forest, making enough sound to earn a few grimaces and growls from Clove a few yards in front of me. I only chuckle, though; remembering Reaping Day morning, where I told Bryan it didn't matter I wasn't stealthy because I was so big. I can only begin to think of what Clove would say to that. The very prospect brings a smile to my face as I smother plant life noisily under my feet.

Glimmer will not stop talking with Lover Boy, Marvel, me, and occasionally herself. She still attempts to gab over the anthem when it comes bursting out of the speakers. We manage to hush her though, so we can watch for our kills and brag about them.

First to pop up is the young female from Three, and her murderer is Marvel, based upon the low, throaty laugh that slips out of his throat. Next, the boy from Four. Glimmer mumbles the name Tristan as she gazes, dumbfounded, at the frail boys image in the sky. Since Tara is absent, I allow myself one, triumphant smirk.

The sky also tells that the boy from Five has fallen, a cheer from Clove, and both from Six, where the brunette and Marvel nudge each other smugly. The girl from Seven appears in the sky alongside her District partner. I claim the female as my kill, but no one says anything for the boy from the District. But the smile on Marvel's face tells us all we need to know. The boy from Eight is claimed by me, as is the boy from Nine, and Clove claims the girl from the ninth District, as well. I recognize the girl from Ten as my own murder, my second one where the girl ended up killing herself in the end, and then the screen falls black again.

The rage that Thresh is still alive soon subsides when Clove whirls on Glimmer, angrily whispering, "You didn't kill _anyone?_" We all silently hold our breaths as the blonde swallows the lump in her throat.

"Well, neither did Tara, and she-"

"I don't give a damn about Fish Girl, Glimmer! She didn't get an eight! She got a seven! She doesn't have the looks you have to boost your score, she didn't get the same attention, and she is way smarter than you! Right now, it doesn't matter how many sponsors you have! You're still no help, and it'd be so much easier without you here." Clove spits as the music ends, and we are draped in darkness once again.

And the darkness makes it much easier to spot the smoke swirling up into the sky from an area of woods a few miles over.

"Grab your stuff and let's go." Clove hisses, yanking her backpack up her arm and gripping a cruel bladed dagger as she stealthily creeps back into the wood, followed by our rowdy herd.

Clove leads us through trees for hours, but the smoke does not decrease until about 2 hours after we began tracking this new prey. There is no wind. The trees do not rustle, no one hitches up their jackets to protect their neck from the breeze. The night is dark and still as we creep over dead leaves and compact dirt.

Eventually, Clove brings out a hand, signaling us to stop. Our reaction time is a little slow, and my District partner rolls her eyes in an annoyed manner, "The tribute is just up ahead. If we kill them now, we can make it back to the Cornucopia right after dawn." She looks at us expectantly, eying me and Marvel simultaneously, "So, who's going to kill them?"

"I wi-"

"Oh, no you won't!" Clove interrupts the blonde, pushing her bouncing figure to the dirt with a single hit to the chest. Glimmer falls with a huff, and crosses her arms as both girls look at us expectantly.

"I got it," I hiss almost inaudibly, and begin to move forward once more, breaking through the gap in the trees, crunching sticks beneath my feet.

A petite girl lies next to a dying fire, snoring softly as she sleeps. I grin, and pull out my sword with a metallic clang. Marvel gives a soft laugh, and I approach slumbering girl. I identify her as District Eight. My smile goes sadistic as I lean down and whisper, "Wakey-wakey, little girl."

The girl's eyes snap open, and she opens her mouth as if to convince me to spare her. But her scream cuts off her words as my sword cuts through her stomach.

I stab her several other places until she collapses in a pool of her own blood, eyes staring upward, in the direction of where the hovercraft will come to grab her dead carcass. Marvel begins to congratulate me, shouting, "12 down, 11 to go!" The girls begin to laugh, but Peeta hangs back, silent.

"Let's clear out before the body starts stinking." I say, sheathing my sword with a loud clang.

Clove begins to lead us through the woods once more, as Glimmer has little giggling aftershocks over the girl from Eight's desperate pleas and whimpers. We walk silently over several yards of woods, until Clove cocks her head up, "Shouldn't we have heard a canon, by now?"

I know Clove is just curious, but something rubs me the wrong way about her question, and I turn and snarl at Marvel when he says, "I'd say yes, nothing to prevent them from moving in immediately."

"Unless she isn't dead." Glimmer mumbles uncertainly.

"She's dead," I spit through gritted teeth, "I stuck her myself."

"Then where's the canon?" Marvel spits back, getting in my face.

"Someone should go back, make sure the job is done." Clove adds hesitantly, being sure to not take one side or the other, but not wanting to have to sacrifice her logic either.

"Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice," Glimmer adds, rather unhelpfully.

"I said she's dead!" I shout angrily, and Marvel pounces on me once more, attempting to prove his point. Glimmer chimes in with a few statements to support her District partner. Clove stays silent, fuming over our argument, as I bark angrily at the pair from One.

"We're wasting time! I'll go finish her and let's move on!" Peeta snaps, and we all calm slightly.

"Go on, then, Lover Boy. See for yourself." I snap, smoothing my hair with my hand. He nods and scampers of flexibly, his limp impairing his ability to be quiet.

Clove turns to me, "Why don't we just kill him now and get it over with?"

"Let him tag along. What's the harm?" Marvel shrugs in bored manner, "And he's handy with that knife." I just register Clove's scoff as something rustles a free nearby.

I smirk slightly as I add gently, "Besides, he's our best chance of finding her."

Marvel cocks an eyebrow, "Why? You think she bought into that sappy romance stuff?"

"I don't know, she might've. Seemed pretty simple minded to me. Every time I think of her spinning around in that dress, I want to puke." Clove shudders, unconsciously defending me and my point of view. Or maybe she did intend for that...

"Wish we knew how she got that eleven!" Glimmer whines.

Clove wistfully looks on at the clearing in the wood from which we came, "Bet you Lover Boy knows."

Right on cue, Lover Boy bursts back through the trees.

"Was she dead?" I bark at the blonde.

"No, but she is now." My eyes begin to focus in on the blood covered knife in Twelve's hand as he responds, and I'm snapped out of my reverie by a canon. Lover Boy readjusts the pack on his shoulders, before questioning us as a whole, "Ready to move on?"

We respond by breaking into a run.

XxXxXxXxX

Our pack arrives back at the Cornucopia a few hours after daybreak, and once we come into sight, Tara slithers exhaustedly into her tent. Marvel volunteers for a two hour guard, and begins to scarf down a make-shift meal consisting of wild berries and jerky. Glimmer and Lover Boy trudge to their tents, idly chatting, but Clove and I are silent as we slip into ours.

Our silence continues as we begin to get into our sleeping bags, until my mind screams out for me to speak about Clove's actions earlier. So I softly murmur, "Why did you defend my point when Marvel questioned it?"

Clove seems taken aback, and her eyes dart about until she sighs, "Because you would have done the same for me. Because it was the right thing to do." She pauses, gazing entranced at the rising sun, "Look, whenever you need my help, just tell me. Call out for me. I'll help you in any way I can."

"Why?"

"Because it's what..." Clove breaks off, unsure if how to continue.

I gaze at Clove as she further stumbles over her explanation, until I can't bear it anymore. "It's what allies would do?" I offer in attempt to finish her statement.

She just subtly shakes her head, before she locks eyes with me, "It's what friends are for."

A warm smile plays across my lips, "Sleep tight, Clover." I say softly as I lay down, body covered by the sleeping bag, the wet grass serving as an impromptu pillow.

And even though my eyes have fluttered shut, I can envision the smirk on Clove's face as she whispers, "Sweet dreams, Catokins."

**Author's Note: **Sorry this chapter took forever and a year. Sorry sorry sorry. I had writer's block and then lost power all yesterday afternoon and had to shovel nearly three feet of snow this morning because of the blizzard! Unh! I hate New England winters! :O

So... how did I do with my very first action sequence? Meh or yay or moo? :\

In terms of reviews. Mikadocon brought up a good point. I left out some important supporting details in Chapter 9. Ha ha, oops :) I will fix those in say 20 minutes after this is posted. So, if you read this after February 9th, you'll probably have no idea what I am talking about. But that's okay! I don't know what _I'm _talking about half the time. Ha ha.

I would like to thank all my reviewers and hope that you review too! C'mon, all the cool cats are doing it! (Even though its probably 10 times less cool now that I've said that :P) Anyway, please review! :)


	11. Chapter 11

**DISCLAIMER:**** I do not own the Hunger Games or any of its characters. All rights belong to Suzanne Collins.**

_**WARNING**__**:**____**Language... Sort of. I use the s word once but I censor it. That's okay with the rating I have, right? Let me know if you think it isn't and I will remove it from the chapter. :)**_

Chapter Eleven:

I am woken for guard duty by Marvel when the sun has reached the halfway point of its descent in the sky. The boy from One looks disheveled, as the long guard had tired him out further. I realize with a start that we have been sleeping for well over 5 hours.

"Weren't you going to wake us up before this?" I question blearily, and Marvel's eyes go wide, but he tries to smother his surprise with a shrug. It doesn't fool me and I groan, "You fell asleep didn't you." The blonde boy at the entrance to my tent gives a sheepish grin before he disappears once more.

I stretch lazily, and exit the tent. The light that assaults my vision blinds me, and I stumble over towards the Cornucopia. I grab some meat and a handful of berries, and stagger over to one of the logs that surround the pile of wood ready to be lit later on. I run my hand along the rough food I am sitting on, perplexed. _Maybe this is what kept Marvel?_

My suspicion is flatly proven wrong when a feminine voice sounds, "Did I find good logs, then?"

The voice obviously does not belong to Glimmer, as it lacks the sugary flair, so it must be Tara, since Clove's still sleeping in the...

"How the hell?" I question, beyond confused as the slender, pale brunette struts over.

She smirks, "What? Not expecting me?"

"Why did you wake up so early?" I splutter, the only words I can say coherently through my shock stringing themselves into a sentence.

She shrugs, nonchalantly as she seats her frame on the wood next to me, "I don't sleep much, and was restless besides. I had to find something to do, so I got up. Marvel was fast asleep, so I kicked him awake and told him to help me do something productive. We grabbed his ax, and went hunting for small trees. We brought down a pine and we -well I- hacked off the branches, and helped Marvel haul the back down to camp. We split it back here. Then we went back out and the Gamemakers decided to help us. We 'magically' found a fallen tree, and we made quick work of it." She gestures around the camp, "So now we have four, and a good firewood supply from the branches. Then I sent Marvel to wake you as I went to hunt." Clove waves her knife in the air, consequently swinging the dead rabbit attached to it as well.

I raise an eyebrow, impressed, "You know how to hunt? How did you get practice in Stone City?"

She rolls her jade eyes, "Well I didn't practice back in Two. Of course I didn't. Like you said, the District's made of stone and metal." She pauses, searching for the right words, "I have... certain, helpful street smarts. And I put them to good use. It's pretty similar. Human and animal killing. You just need to know the right spots to strike, and you need to be faster than your victim." She chuckles at the dead animal, black eyes even more drained of color now that life, too, has left he little creature, "It also helps if they're unsuspecting."

I gape at Clove's skill and how she makes it all seem so... so... effortless.

Clove blows her bangs out of her eyes with a puff of air, and she slides off her pack. "I'm going to make the fire. It will take a good 30 minutes for the food to properly cook, but I need to set up a spit and I should get some roots and heat them up." She huffs, staring at the rabbit lodged on her weapon, "And I still need to gut this thing!" She sneaks a sly glance at me, "Could you-"

"No." I say finally, interrupting her request for me to gut the creature myself.

She scowls, "You don't even know what I was going to say!"

"Well, the answer is still no, no matter what the hell you were going to say!"

She laughs, and I find myself reveling in the musical sound. "Well, I'd probably do the same. But no need to be so blunt and hostile, Cato!" I start to smile slyly, when Clove looks me in the eye abruptly, her smile wicked, "Oh, I'm sorry. I mean there's no need to be hostile, _Catokins._"

"Shut up, _Clover._" I snarl back, emphasizing her nickname as much as she did mine.

But Clove just laughs, "You really think 'Clover' gets under my skin? Face it, the great nicknaming master can't find an annoying nickname for me." I scowl, as she continues, "That's why Ronnie chose it, because it's the only name he could find that didn't make me want to throttle him. It's still annoying but-"

"Then why aren't you annoyed when I say it?" I interrupt her, and she is taking aback.

"Umm... I... I am. I... I..." Clove stutters, searching to no avail to find words to complete her statement.

I laugh at her and nudge her playfully, "Growing soft towards me, eh, _Clover_?"

She flushes slightly, and attempts to run her hand through her hair, only to scowl when she finds it up in a ponytail. She quickly undoes it with one, fluid movement of her wrist, and her hair comes cascading over her shoulders. She looks at me shyly, soft smile on her face, and my breath hitches.

"You should... wear you hair down more often." I manage, praying it doesn't sound too dumb.

"Why? So it covers how ugly I am?" Clove laughs, a sarcastic twang to her musical giggle.

Ugly? Not her. Clove is so attractive, so much more than attractive. A commanding presence bottled up in a petite little frame. Pointed features that define her profile that seem so... right. There is no flaw to Clove. Her nose is straight, her eyes are gorgeous, her lips are luscious, her locks silky. She is gorgeous.

But of course, I do not go gushing anything of this to Clove. I only shake my head, "You're far from ugly."

She looks up at me, shocked beyond words at my compliment. She flushes a pale scarlet as she averts her gaze, nervously gnawing on her lip, before she stands and sashays off towards the woods to find a branch for the spit. I look to the firewood pile, completely certain that Clove knew they were here and could've used one but chose to leave anyway.

I am also certain of how screwed up it is that I am developing an attraction towards my District partner in the middle of the Hunger Games and sort of just told her about it.

Sh-t.

XxXxXxXxX

The rabbit is better than expected, a greasy little snack to nibble on as the afternoon rages on. Everyone is up, to hungry to sleep, and we decide to set off a good hour before dusk today for the hunt.

We all sit lazily around the dying fire, Glimmer perked up a little since she is an unofficial guard of sorts as the rest of us relax.

"C'mon guys! Lets do something fun for once!" Glimmer whines, and I roll my eyes at her. Clove and I may have the famous Two temper, but we also have the ability to stay quiet for long amounts of time. From what I can tell, Clove savors silence, and looks so peaceful when no one talks. So her temper flares and she grows slightly irate when one breaks the quiet, and sends Glimmer a glare as she huffs audibly, tossing her blonde hair as she mumbles, "I'm bored."

Tara shoots up, "I know! Let's play truth or dare!"

Glimmer squeals in delight at the mention of the old party game, and Marvel looks pleased with the prospect. I was not one who liked games like this, and I will not willingly play it in front of all of Panem. I roll my eyes and lay on my side on the log I have to myself.

"Okay, so it's us three so far." Glimmer announces the obvious fact, and she eyes me excitedly, "Cato! Join us?"

"Um... I don't know..."

"C'mon Cato!" Glimmer purrs, holding out the words, smile on her face.

Clove cocks her head up slightly from where she sits, back propped up on the log to the left of mine, so we lock eyes as she smirks, "Yeah, Catokins, aren't you going to play?" I laugh as she drawls her 'y', mocking Glimmer's flirtatious tone.

I smirk back, "Only if you play, Clover."

Her green eyes widen and her mouth opens a little, but she averts her gaze and crosses her arms, snarling, "Fine."

"Oh this is so exciting!" Glimmer squeals, "I'll go first. Tara, truth or dare?"

"Um, truth."

"Okay," Glimmer taps her chin thoughtfully, before a devious smirk lights up her face, "Do you have a boyfriend?" Tara squirms under the blonde's stare, and subtly nods her head. Glimmer squeals again, an begins to grill Fish Girl about her boyfriend.

Tara sits uncomfortably, tolerating the blonde's questions, until she snaps, "Can I ask a question or what?"

"Fine." Glimmer huffs, crossing her arms.

"Marvel, truth or dare?" Tara questions.

"Truth."

"What was your strangest dream? Like, ever?" Tara questions, smiling foolishly.

Marvel awkwardly clears his throat, "Well, um, you see there was this really hot girl and a bear in the middle of a desert and um, the girl was naked and so was I and she kind of, came on me, and the bear found this cactus that was... erm..." Marvel awkwardly pauses and starts to laugh, "Should I continue? Because it actually gets weirder."

"No!" Tara shrieks, unblocking her ears and waving her hands desperately in front of her. "Just, ask your question,"

"Okay, um, Glimmer. Truth of dare."

Her eyes lock with Marvel's as she giggles, "Truth!"

"Who do you find most attractive in the circle?" The boy from One asks earnestly, and Clove scoffs at his desperation to get his District partner.

She flips her hair and seductively purrs, "Cato, of course." Marvel's face falls, but then rises in what must be hope when he sees my face contort in what must be disgust. She may be gorgeous, but I am far from attracted to her. "Which is why I ask; Cato, truth or dare?"

"Dare."

She smiles flirtatiously, "Kiss me."

"Hell no." I laugh humorlessly.

Clove whispers almost inaudibly, in a tone only I can hear, "Just remember, if you don't play, neither do I."

I sigh, and trudge across the circle, Glimmer's eyes lighting up like the sun. I sit on the log next to her, and her eyelids flutter shut and she leans in close. But my lips don't land on her own. They land on her cheek.

Her eyes flicker with rage, and she shrieks, "The hell was that!"

"That was your kiss, Blondie. And you'll never get anything more from me." I snap, and laugh softly and genuinely as her face falls and Marvel's rises. I slide back onto my log to receive a look of satisfaction from Clove, only for the smirk to slip into a scowl of disapproval as I ask, "Clove, truth or dare?"

"Truth."

Her response takes me aback, and I scramble to think of a truth. None comes to mind, so I sit there dumbly until Marvel leans over and whispers a question is my ear. I don't want to know how Marvel's mind works, so I just try to repeat what Marvel told me with a straight face. "Okay. Your boyfriend has been magically transformed into an animal, and the only way to restore them back to their original self is to mate with them. Which animal would cause you the least psychological damage?"

Clove stares blatantly at me, shocked beyond words. Her stare becomes filled with contempt when I begin to chuckle, and she sends a similar glare Marvel's way when he starts to laugh, as well.

"Answer the question, Clover." I tease lightly, smirk on my face.

She sends me another hate filled glower as she snarls, "A bunny."

"What?" Marvel asks incredulously.

She laughs, "I could kill it easily."

"But, you love them." Tara says softly.

"Please. There's no one I love." Clove mumbles.

"No one?" Glimmer whimpers.

Clove shrugs, "My twin sister maybe. I don't really love my older sister, and I pretty much only have one friend who isn't scared of me." She discreetly eyes me out of the corner of her eye, "Maybe two."

"Well, don't you want a boyfriend?" Tara asks.

"Please. I have a distrust of people and basically despise all the men where I come from."

"All?" Glimmer rolls her eyes.

Clove just rolls her eyes back and averts her gaze, "Ya, except like, six. They're just, so inconsiderate and always drunk and, and they take advantage of..." She pauses, looking conflicted, "You know, women." She fights to keep her voice from cracking, but is obviously struggling, "Women like my sister."

We are all shocked silent, and I stare blatantly at her, confused. _What does this mean? Where so the pieces fit? _The petite girl squirms under all of our gazes, _Why can't I solve the puzzle that is Clove? _I stare even more confused, until a memory flickered in the back if my mind, and my subconscious went speeding towards it at an incredible speed.

_'Jayla had just found her way of making money,' Clove says, ''Not a job, but as physically arduous as one. I was disappointed in her choice.'_

_'Ronnie knew it had to do with Palo's, and when I asked him how, he said it was how physically guarded I looked around men'_

I stare at her again, the words bouncing around in my head. _Her sister's a prostitute, _I think to myself. It explains why she is so guarded around people, men to be more specific; she doesn't trust them. She thinks that everyone is out to hurt her, so she refuses to let anyone in.

And even though I can't see my reflection, I have a feeling that if I looked in the lake, I would see actual feeling in my icy blue eyes.

Marvel looks at me, making an obvious gesture to say something comforting and apologize, but I sit frozen. Marvel sighs inaudibly, then coughs, "Well, um, bunnies are cool." Clove nods, and the silence falls heavy on usonce more.

"Why don't we play something else?" Tara's voice wavers as she stares petrified at Clove.

That's when I notice the boy in the background.

I snatch a spear, jump to my feet, and as I race towards the retreating form, I snarl under my breath, "Let's play predator and prey."

The brown haired boy puts up a great effort, but his lead is greatly diminished by my speed and his physical ability, or his lack of it. I snag his shoulder, and he immediately accepts defeat. He collapses onto his knees and begins to plead, "No, you can't kill me here!"

I laugh humorlessly and bitingly, "How about I drag you over there and have one of them murder you?"

He whimpers again, but puts up no fight as I drag him towards camp, my vice like grip secured around his scrawny little wrist.

"What'd you find Cato?" Clove snarls, and her emotionless mask she has fused to her face. Her killing expression has appeared, replacing the unguarded one I just witnessed in a moments notice. It's almost refreshing to see her less upset, yet the void of emotion is almost unsettling as I push the boy roughly forward. She eyes him, and scoffs, "Why didn't you just kill the runt?"

"No! No! Don't kill me!" The boy begs desperately, frantically throwing himself away from my District partner and her knife. He cowers in front of Glimmer, "I can help you!"

I roll my eyes, "Like hell."

"No! I- I can guard them! Your supplies! I- I swear!"

"I'm sure you can, District Three," Tara says soothingly, and the boys face lights up.

"But so can we." Clove snaps, falling back onto the grass.

"Oh! Oh no! I can do more than just stand here!"

"Then spill it Three! Tell us if you want to live!" I demand, and the boy is shocked into obeying.

"I can set up a trap around them! Mine the ground! I- I can reactivate th- the bombs by the plates! They can protect the supplies!" He sees our disbelieving stares and cries, "I can do it! I swear! I'm from Three! Technology, remember? I can do this!"

We all look at each other, surprised. One thought echoing in all our minds, _Can he do that?_

The Careers look to me for the final decision, and I shrug. _Only one way to find out._

"Okay, Three. Do it."

XxXxXxXxX

Dusk sets upon the arena faster than expected, and the boy from Three, David I have learned, is working diligently on the mines. He tried to demonstrate how it worked to us, but none of us could grasp the concept, and Glimmer dismissed the matter with an airy giggle. He volunteered to take watch, and we are allowing it. He knows he will die no matter what, but his death will be far more painful if he betrays us and runs. So we pack our stuff and enter the woods, all 5 of the Careers still alive and Lover Boy, as the sun sets over the arena.

Clove leads, Tara tagging behind, and the girls find a way to make each other even more quiet as they stealthily move through the foliage. We crash loudly behind them, Marvel playing target practice on trees a few yards ahead, removing them from the bark with a rough snap when he passes the tree moments later. Lover Boy trips over a couple roots, and Glimmer chirps happily to me, though I do not respond to her out of place upbeat questions.

Dusk is quickly morphing into night, but not quite. And it is during the twilight that we smell smoke and feel waves of extreme heat.

It is also during twilight that the wall of flames cuts me off from Clove, Tara, and Marvel.

The heat is excruciating, and I quickly pull my shirt up over my nose. Glimmer has run off screeching and Lover Boy is stumbling about, the effects of smoke inhalation messing with his movements as he jerkily attempts to cover his nose. The effects of the fire get to me, too, and I feel dizzy and begin to cough as I register a scream in the background. I figure it is Glimmer, and stumble haphazardly along the wall of fire, trying my best to see straight when the voice comes again, screeching something incoherent.

I strain my ears, and between the shrieks and coughing fits, I decipher my name. And I recognize Clove's voice.

And the voice comes weaker and weaker until it stops coming all together.

And that's when I make the connection. _She's dying. _

I set off, demolishing foliage as I shout desperately, "Clove!" There is no response, but the wall of fire reacts to my presence, curving in front of me. Cursing I move quickly around it, and hear loud moans coming from a few hundred yards away. I burst into the clearing, and find Clove collapsed on the grass, sprawled out on the green. And she is still. And that scares the hell out me. "Clove!"

I skid to a stop in front of her and see her smile weakly when my face appears over her own. She coughs weakly, and I help her sit up, propping her on her elbows. Her face transforms into an intense grimace, and I can see her body is protesting all movement. I hear Marvel shouting my name, so I gingerly scoop up the brunette and begin to run towards Marvel. The wall of fire has descended, so I run over charred plants and burnt foliage as I hurry towards where I heard the boy from One.

I find him a moment later, Tara by his side, and Lover Boy comes limping onto the scene, dragging a delusional Glimmer. I roll my eyes, and lead the pack to the stream.

The cool water laps against the bank as we wipe dirt and soot from our faces, trying to escape the clouded mind inflicted by excess smoke inhalation. I sigh, and snatch up my bag once more. Glimmer is half submerged in water, coming up spluttering before sinking back into the river, and Marvel sits lazily, stretched out upon the bank. Our damp clothes cling to our bodies like wetsuits, and make the bone-chilling night even more unbearable. But we nonetheless get our stuff packed up before our clothes are died, and are about to leave for the woods when we hear a crack.

Clove's head whips to the left, where the sound came from, and we see a dark haired tribute disappearing into the wood.

Katniss.

Without so much as a word, we scoop up our weapons and begin to grin as we run after the girl from Twelve.

We hurry through the stream, determined to reach the tribute we all despise intently. Well, all except Lover Boy, who hurries behind us, a very unconvincing sadistic look plastered unwillingly on his face. I lead the pack this time, and I run until I hear something rustling leaves above me. I tilt my head upwards, as do Clove and Glimmer behind me, and we see Katniss Everdeen herself standing on a branch twenty feet up. She smiles happily, "How's everything with you?"

I raise an eyebrow, perplexed, and the now arriving Tara and Marvel are confused too as we are. I look her in the eye, "Well enough, yourself?"

"It's been a bit warm for my taste," Clove mumbles a curse under breath when we receive this answer from Twelve. Katniss then smiles, "The air's better up here. Why don't you come on up?"

"Think I will," I spit hostilely, and I ignore Clove's pleading gaze and stalk to the base of the tree.

"Here, take this, Cato," Glimmer says, shoving her silver bow and a sheath full of arrows at me.

I roll my eyes and wave the weapon away, "No, I'll do better with my sword." I allow my hand to graze the handle of my short and sturdy blade before I hoist myself into the tree Twelve continues to climb.

I'm not much of a climber, so I take longer than the girl to scale the tree, carefully placing each step on the sturdiest branches I can find. I put my weight on a skimpy branch, and it immediately snaps in half. I fall to the ground with a sickening thud and begin to swear angrily as I stand up.

Glimmer takes a turn, and begins to climb, bow in hand. The branches begin to crack beneath her weight, and she stops about 30 feet up. She nocks an arrow and aims for the olive skinned girl up in the tree. It becomes blatantly obvious she can't shoot. At all. The three arrows she fires lodge in the completely wrong places, and Twelve is able to seize one from a nearby tree and wave it tauntingly above Glimmer's blonde head as the girl slides back down the tree, thoroughly embarrassed.

We regroup, talking about ways to get her down from the branches or to kill her from down here. Marvel suggests I throw a spear, but it's too easy to dodge. Glimmer asks Tara if she can shoot, but Tara says no. Clove is snarling braggingly that she can scale the tree and throw a knife in her skull, when Peeta exasperatedly barks, "Oh, let her stay up there. It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning."

We all nod grudgingly and pull our sleeping bags out of our packs. Tara begins to treat burns as we settle down, and Glimmer volunteers to take watch. I see Peeta eye his love, who is settling down on a sturdy branch 80 feet from the ground. A long way to fall...

I drag my bag over away from the tree, next to where Clove is set up. I smile at her, and she smiles back as we lay down.

The anthem sounds, but the sky reveals no deaths. As my eyes flutter shut, my ears register a faint humming as I succumb to the need to sleep.

**Author's Note: **Eep! It's been a week! Seven days, 168 hours... In other words its been too long! So sorry, but now I'm on February break! My teachers went _insane _this week and I had zero time to write. I had two quizzes on genetics in Science, a massive research project in Geography, a quiz and a test in Math, a test in Spanish, an essay in Eglish, and I even had a test in gym. Ya, I didn't know those existed either, but it happened. :P

Anyways, hope you enjoy! Next chapter will be short-ish: Tracker Jacker attack and its effects, nothing else. Sorry.

Hope you enjoyed the truth or dare game! The question Cato asked is my friend's signature question lol. I will enjoy writing this from Clove's PoV when I write her Games.

Please review! Please please please! :D


	12. Chapter 12

**DISCLAIMER: ****I do not own the Hunger Games or any of its characters. All rights belong to Suzanne Collins.**

**Author's Note: **The first italics is a flashback, the second is the Tracker Jacker hallucinations when Cato is unconscious. Hope you enjoy. :)

Chapter Twelve:

I growl. An annoying buzzing noise is sounding above my head. It sounds like dragonflies sort of, or could be some insect from outside Two, as not much wildlife is there. My eyes flutter open to locate the insect, and I see that it is none of the above.

There is a nest falling, a nest that is one of a bee or wasp. Fear envelopes me and shakes me violently as I leap to my feet.

I'm deadly allergic to bees.

XxXxXxXxX

_"Cato!" _

_I turn my head, and see Brad and my other two best friends Caverious and John by the woods, weapons made of sticks in their hands. _

_This is going to be our last time together, as soon my afternoons will be filled with training for the Games, and they will pursue other interests. Father told me to win the Games, and those were his last words while on his deathbed. I will take that promise to my own grave, and will hope to be buried on my family plot beside my father as a Victor. So I will train and I will make him proud. People are saying that I'm changing, losing sight of myself, but I know in my heart this is what I was made to do._

_So I play with my own weapon, a 'sword' made of a straight branch from the park, as we stand in the rocky meadow full of dying grass. _

_We look eagerly at John, the youngest of the bunch, not yet seven where as I am already nine, who clears his throat and calls in a high, nasally tone, "Ladi- er... Gentlemen!" We all laugh at his slip of the tongue, and he tries to glare. We sigh happily and get back into character. John grips his sword and bends at the knee, shouting, "Let the Hunger Games begin!" _

_Our very own Claudius Templesmith instantly turns on his heel and runs away from our Cornucopia of stick weapons. I lunge for the pile, and send a twig at Caverious, who clutches at his chest where the 'knife' hit and I get into a sword fight Brad. I land a hit to the stomach, and Brad dramatically collapses, smile on his face. I grip my sword and run towards John._

_The chase ensues for a while, the youngest boy in our group running like a maniac, and I am stumbling over my awkwardly long legs. After a short period of time, our friends get up from their positions sprawled out on the ground and tail us at a distance. _

_I find John up against a rock, and I begin to approach him, stick in hand, when I hear a buzzing coming from a withering tree a few yards to my left. All four of us crane our heads, and we see a swarm of bees coming our way. _

_My mother's words come back to me, "Be aware of bees Cato. One sting and you will be severely hurt." _

_I grab my epipen from my pocket and throw it at Brad as the first stinger breaks my skin. I yelp in pain, and as another stinger lodges itself in my arm, I begin to feel woozy. Another stings my palm as I collapse to the ground._

_I hear my friends alarmed cries as I see an insect above my face, and feel dull pain as I pass out._

XxXxXxXxX

So as the nest breaks apart upon the ground, I snatch Clove by the wrist as she immediately snaps up into a sitting position, and I drag her behind me as Glimmer's screeches sound desperately and Marvel shouts frantically, "To the lake! To the lake!"

The insects hone in on us with such startling accuracy, I'm unnerved. I glance over my shoulder at the thick black cloud as we run hard and fast towards the Cornucopia, even Clove making a loud commotion. I hear her screech over the loud buzzing, "What the hell are these thi-" her question is cut off when she lets out an insane scream of pain, and I look at her briefly to see a lump the size of a plum raise on her arm.

"Tracker Jackers!" Marvel huffs from beside me, grimacing in pain as he gets stung in the neck.

No. Hell no. Those things can kill a normal person with too many stings, I'll probably die with just one.

We run faster, Clove actually running now, as well, and I realize that I may make it. I may not get stung.

I turn briefly at the edge of the lake and instantly regret it.

I collapse after a stinger drives itself into the vulnerable skin under my eye.

Clove shrieks as she begins to drag me into the water, and I watch her contort in pain as she is stung twice more. I fade in and out of consciousness until I'm shocked awake when I am submerged in the cold water.

I come up spluttering moments later, and sprawl against the edge of the lake. I moan desperately to the sky, "Epipen." and then everything fades black.

XxXxXxXxX

"Agh!" I scream, springing up when I feel a great sensation of pain in my thigh. Immediately, Clove places a hand on my arm to calm me, and gestures to the epipen she is pressing into my leg. My mind immediately feels less clouded, and I sigh in relief.

I hear footsteps behind me, and see David with two containers. He unscrews one and hands me some medicine. "For your allergic reaction," he assures, and I swallow what he gave me immediately.

He then begins pulling the stingers out of Clove's back, who smiles woozily up at him, before toppling over. I reach out to shake her awake, but David stops me.

"It's just the Tracker Jacker venom. It's normal. Well, I hope it it because..." the boy from Three trails off and gestures to an unconscious Marvel half submerged in the lake.

"What about Glimmer? And Tara? And Lover Boy?" I demand, getting to my feet, still woozy despite the adrenaline rush the epipen supplied. David points to the edge of the woods as a canon sounds, and I see Twelve limping away. I immediately run after him, unsheathing my sword. The boy from Three shouts that I don't have long before the venom kicks in, but I pay him no mind. Instead I hobble crookedly after Lover Boy.

The hallucinations begin to occur when I'm twenty yards back into the woods, and they're enough to make me want to give up and curl into a fetal position upon the ground. But my instincts kick in, the survival instructs that tell me not to let the prey get away.

Trees begin to wither and dissolve, turning to dust. The dust begins to collect into bones and they in turn form skeletons, and they begin to chase me through the woods as I chase Lover Boy. I slice at them, but my sword only meets air. I hear buzzing, and hold in a scream believing the Tracker Jackers have come back. Tendrils wrap around ankles in their green coils, and they slow my steps. I try to take a breath, _It's just a hallucination. Just a hallucination. _I try to move my feet, but the tendrils hold me back. _How... how is this happening? It can't be real! _I shake my head slowly, willing myself to get a grip on reality as I trudge forward.

"Are you mad?"

Hell yes, Lover Boy. It sure feels that way when I see three of you after I walk over burning foliage. I see the blonde hovering over someone. Someone with brown hair twisted into a long braid. Katniss! And all three of the boy from Twelve get the girl on her feet and send her running.

Lover Boy morphs into one before splitting into five as he turns towards me, but each face shows pure fear as I raise my sword, somehow dripping with orange blood. I walk crookedly towards him, and swing my blade angrily at the traitor. It hits him in his leg, and he falls to his knees. My blade hits nothing but air the next times I swing, even though in my delusional mind I see it run clean through Peeta's neck. I stumble back and forth, trying to ignore the hallucinations and fake images and sounds, until I finally give in to the venom's power. I watch Lover Boy crawl away as I fall to the forest floor with a thud, allowing myself to be enveloped by the darkness, though I know it won't stay dark very long.

XxXxXxXxX

_My eyes flutter open, and I see Bryan above me. He seems cheery and smiles brightly at me, until his eyes drop to his stomach, and I follow his gaze to where a sword is plunged into the shaft of his stomach. A sword I am holding. I begin to panic, but Bryan is already screaming like a maniac, beyond terror, and tears stream down his face as he whispers of how much he hates his big brother. How evil he is for killing one he loves. I start to cry too, as sweet little Bryan is talking about me._

_The scenery changes, and I am Bryan's size, running desperately through the house, up to the third bedroom where my father lays. I skid to a stop at his bedside and begin to attempt to soothe him, but in a series of jerky movements he doesn't pat my head like I expect and tell me to make him proud, but he lunges at me and begins to beat me._

_With every hit he becomes someone different; from my trainer to my lessons teacher, from the guys at school envious of me to the the biggest beast I know, the one person who hates me with every fiber of her body. _

_Kendra King. My older sister._

_Her long blonde hair falls into my face as she slaps me and shakes me, snarling rude comments at me as I watch father's fatal heart attack over and over out of the corner of my eye. I begin to cry blood, and Kendra attacks me, spitting at me insults for being weak. My sister lets out a cackle, snaps my leg in half, and disappears into thin air._

_I look down to survey my wound, but find my leg perfectly straight, concealed within the pant leg of my black suit. I am on the couch, too, not the wood floor of the master bedroom, and people are walking by me within incredible speed, each mourner blending into the other. I creep up from my position and scurry to the coffin in the dining room, and see my father's body disintegrate right in from of me. I scream bloody murder until the Peacekeepers come into my house and slam the coffin shut. I claw at them, desperate to say goodbye to the ashes that are my father._

_Just as quickly, the scenery changes to a large Victor's Village house, and the ashes turn into Ashen. She looks upon me with contempt. She begins to hiss and transforms into a slithering snake, creeping towards me. I can't move, my brain is not connected to the rest of my body. Ashen begins to crawl up my lake, slither across my torso, and wraps around my neck, hissing viciously as I suffocate. _

_I find myself in the middle of the woods, and breathe a sigh of relief. It must be over. _

_But that's when Clove runs by me, tailed by Thresh with a spear._

_I'm immobilized as I watch the giant from Eleven spear her through her internal organs, and my heart breaks when I hear her desperate moan and am filled with inconsolable grief when I hear the canon fire. I glare at the man who took her life, and he smirks down at me, before cutting my head clean off._

_Then, my decapitated head starts to see once more, and everything goes in reverse; the hole on Clove seals up and she runs away, Thresh slightly ahead of her. And then I witness Thresh murder her again._

_And again. And again._

XxXxXxXxX

I spring up shouting Clove's name, but immediately calm down when I see David running towards me. I am by the Cornucopia, night has fallen, and I find Clove and Marvel still passed out on the grass. I decide without a shadow of a doubt that I am done with the hallucinations, that the venom has worked it's way out of my body. I reach up to touch the area under my eye, and when I pull my hand away it is coated in some green slime. I raise an eyebrow and shoot David a skeptical glance.

"It's to soothe the Tracker Jacker wounds." Three sighs, sitting beside me, "You guys have great sponsors even after Glimmer and Tara. I haven't gotten one gift."

I look solemnly at our ally, before his words set in, "Blondie and Fish Girl? They're..."

"Gone. Died from the Tracker Jackers from two nights back. No other deaths though. Just them." David says, no emotion in his voice. I nod and stretch lazily, eying my allies as David hands me the sting medicine, telling me to apply another coat.

"Hkkk!" Marvel leaps forward, clutching his neck. I send him a smirk as he realizes that he has come to his senses, and a relieved look crosses his face. He eyes me quizzically as I rub my eye, but looks gratefully at me after I throw him the container of goo and he begins to lather his stings.

"Oh, and here. You guys got burn medicine after they saw Clove's were really bad. So we'll treat her when she gets up, but you and Cato can treat yourselves now." David hands another container to Marvel, who smiles delighted and smothers the medicine on his burn wounds. I snatch it greedily from him moments later, sending him a sarcastic smile as I mouth, 'Oh, I'm sorry' when he gives me a glare.

"Eli! Eli!" Clove shrieks, causing Marvel to send the container of Tracker Jacker medicine flying. David jumps to catch it, and all three of us let out the breath. I cringe again as Clove starts to wail miserably, shouting Eli again and again.

I whirl and send David a pleading gaze, hoping he knows what is happening.

He shrugs, "She's done the same thing three times now. Something to do with the venom."

I look at Clove once more and give her hand a reassuring squeeze. She sits up shakily, heaving heavily, and collapses on my shoulder, murmuring, "Help me, Cato."

"Easy now, Clove. Don't worry, I got you." I whisper soothingly, rubbing her arm.

Marvel eyes us, and awkwardly stands, "I'm gonna grab some food."

David's eyes widen in dismay and he runs after the boy from One, "I set up the traps! I need to show you the safe path!"

Clove lets out a small laugh and pulls a way a little. She runs a hand through her hair and smiles shyly as she notices my arm is still around her.

I send a smile back but do not loosen my grip, "Thanks for dragging me to the lake."

"Oh, it's nothing. I mean, you saved me from the forest fire. I still owe you." Clove blushes.

I lean close to her, "Know how you can repay me?" Clove flushes a deeper hue, biting her lip as she shakes her head. I push her to an arms length so I can look her straight in the eye, "Who's Eli?"

She smiles and puts her lips to my ear, "I'm going to say this once and no one's going to know about this, okay?" I shake my head and smirk, mouthing 'For the sponsors'. She glares, but begins to talk at a normal volume anyway, "When I was three, I had three siblings. Not just the two sisters I told you about. I had a brother. He was eight and loved me more than anything." She smiles a sad smile, "His name was Eli. He had wavy brown hair and the same eyes as me. My mother's eyes. Mom died in childbirth.

"When Cassi and I were three and my sister, Jayla, was six, and Eli was eight, my dad set the house on fire. We were all injured, but the smoke cut off the oxygen flow to Cassie's brain and she slipped into a coma. Eli carried us all to he hospital.

"We only had a certain amount of money we could spend on medical treatment, and they treated Cassi and Jayla first, so when it was down to Eli and me, the doctor said they could only save one of us. Everyone wanted Eli to live, but like I said, Eli loved me so much. The doctors left us with the 'offing' medicine shot. I was restrained to the bed because of my age, but Eli wasn't. So I watched helplessly as Eli grabbed the needle and injected himself."

Clove's last words about her brother's death are choked sobs, and she buries her face in her hands. I pat her back apologetically, and she collapses into my chest. Marvel returns with his food and a newly stocked backpack, and I silence his question with an intense glare.

David looks away uncomfortably, staring at a fixed point off in the distance, and whispers, "Guys! There's someone out there!"

We all turn and see a shadow moving through the outskirts of the woods, and their footfalls are heavy. We all turn to Clove, who swipes hurriedly at her tears and grabs her backpack. She turns on us with an intense look that's something in between depression and pure rage, and spits angrily, "What are we waiting for? Let's go hunt the tribute!"

She stalks off, and all three of us, me, Techno, and Sparkle Boy, follow her, because we all know we really have no choice.

**Author's Note: **Aww... A Clato moment. Intertwined with a depressing story of Clove's older brother offing himself so she could live, but it was sorta Clato :)

I had Cato allergic to bees to a.) show they have good sponsors and b.) because I think he had to have some medical assistance to follow Peeta back to the lake and the epipen was the first thing that came to mind. XD

I don't know if you guys know this, but I only have four chapters left. I could finish by next Sunday... and omigod that makes me so sad yet ecstatic and meh!

Please review! It makes me smile. ;)


	13. Chapter 13

**DISCLAIMER:**** I do not own the Hunger Games or any of its characters. All rights belong to Suzanne Collins.**

Chapter Thirteen:

The boy from Ten's canon sounds as the first bits of lit begin to streak across the sky, Marvel standing above the boy, spear buried in his chest. It surprises me how long the cripple lasted, how we didn't spot him on a hunt somewhere along the way. But he was near the grassland, the area of the arena where Thresh had disappeared, and we had steered clear of the ominous area.

"How many are left, Clo?" Marvel asks as he frees the spear from the carcass and we begin to walk away, David looking like he wants to puke, I, on the other hand, slightly pleased with Sparkle Boy's accomplishment though Ten was probably the easiest prey to kill in the whole arena.

"There's you, me, Cato, David, Alexia from Five, little Rue from Eleven, Thresh, Lover Boy, and the bitch on fire." Clove responds in a bored tone.

"Seven left until one of us goes home." I say, trying to hide the gloomy twang in my voice. It's depressing though, how many have died and how many must die still, and how many of the fallen I have killed. I always told myself that this was what my life would lead to, but were my friends right? Did I lose sight of myself for the promise to my father?

We walk in silence, the sound of the hovercraft and the crunching of plants being the only things heard as we trudge back to camp and the sun peeks above the horizon.

The camp looks exactly the same as we left it, so I guess that the thieves must've seen us planting the mines and stayed away. I smirk, thinking of how much easier it will be to get the Games over and done with now that we have everyone hunting.

Marvel goes to clean his spear in the lake, and the rest of us retreat to our tents, David going into Lover Boy's. There's no need for a guard, so Marvel, too, retreats to his tent a short while after, making a loud enough commotion to cause Clove to roll her eyes. I laugh, and Clove gives me that shy, heart warming smile. I feel something inside me like butterflies, and I whisper, 'sweet dreams' to her as she rolls over.

"See you in the afternoon." She yawns, and before I can say anything else, she is out like a light.

But really, what would I have said?

XxXxXxXxX

"Rise and shine, Catokins!" Clove exclaims, mock excitement in her tone as she tears open the flap like doorway to the tent. She smirks down at me, before briskly leaving the tent.

I sigh, running a hand through my matted hair, stumbling to my feet and exiting from underneath the canvas blearily.

The sun clears my vision, and the glare on the lake forces me to look down as I stalk towards the pyramid of supplies. I fill my pack with loads of food, and attach a second sword to my hip. Clove is starting a fire, a dead animal that resembles some cross of a raccoon and a dog, and Marvel is sharpening his weapon. Scrawny little Techno Boy, my nickname for him that I never use, as I don't want to piss off someone who can create a bomb out of virtually anything, sits awkwardly on a log.

Silence hangs over us once more, no one knows what to say and I honestly think no one cares. Marvel seems upset, as he has since Glimmer died, Techno is just a bit of an unfortunate misfit who is doesn't belong with the Careers whatsoever, and Clove is just Clove. Trying to push her breaking self together, only falling into a vulnerable zone when I find a crack in her stony facade and pry it open. She seems to resent me for it, but I also feel her growing closer to me as the numbers dwindle. I'm worried for the breakup of the Careers, because I don't think I can kill little Clover without hating myself for it. I sigh and take a seat next to Marvel, copying his careful technique to sharpen my new sword.

"Um, when- when are you guys going hunting?" David stutters nervously, and I glare at him.

"Planning to run away, are you Three?"

"Oh n-no!" He waves his hands frantically, trying to force us to forget what I just said, "I was ju-just w-wondering if..." He trails off, sighing, "I just wanted to make simple conversation."

"Ya, kill joy. We were finally going to get a break in the silence and what do you do? You ruin it." Marvel spits spitefully, though there is a sarcastic twang to his words.

"But when are we going hunting?" Clove asks thoughtfully, barely glancing up as she removes the animal from above the fire, putting the legs and other valuable parts of the creature in a small pouch in her pack before throwing the rest of the carcass to Three for him to deal with, which he does immediately.

I look up at the sun to judge the time, but am distracted by a trail of smoke streaming across the sky. "Right now!" I shout, snatching my pack and a couple weapons. Marvel followed my gaze and scooped up his backpack and his newly sharpened spear. Clove doesn't even bother looking; she takes the hint and slings her bag over her shoulder.

"Come on, let's go catch the tribute." I order.

"Three, hang back here." Marvel snaps as the boy makes an attempt to gather his things.

"Why?" Clove asks, puzzled.

"Because..." Marvel searches to no avail for the words to prove his point, but David steps in to help.

"Well I did talk to Peeta about the path to the supplies. He could attempt to navigate it, and he has a 60 percent chance of guessing correctly." Three says, clearly embarrassed with his actions, but Marvel smile happily, gesturing to the boy as if he had just spoken the Gospel and we must obey what he says or will be severely punished.

I only roll my eyes, "He's coming." I retort angrily, "We need him in the woods, and his job's done anyway. No one can touch those supplies."

"What about Lover Boy?"

I almost laugh at Marvel's weak attempt to get his way, at how worried he is that Lover Boy will steal from us. How much could he possibly take out of our massive pile? But I maintain my serious persona, shaking my head slightly as I say, "I keep telling you, forget about him. I know where I cut him. It's a miracle he hasn't bled to death yet. At any rate, he's in no shape to raid us," I snatch a spear that Marvel was working on sharpening, the dullest one in the lot, and thrust it into David's hands, "Come on."

They obey this time, and as we disappear into the woods, I come across a mighty oak tree. A tree like the one the Tracker Jacker nest was on. Inadvertently, I think of Katniss, and my blood begins to boil. I survey my fellow Careers as I say angrily, "When we find her, I kill her my own way, and no one interferes."

Everyone seems to understand who I am speaking of, based upon the glower Marvel wears and the scowl painted on Clove's features. And like I asked, no one questions me. No one tries to fight to be the girl's murderer. No one interferes.

And if they value a short, painless way out of life, they should make it stay that way.

XxXxXxXxX

The fire hasn't yet died, but the surrounding area is completely, utterly empty. _Empty. _And it's as annoying as hell. I snarl angrily and look around, trying to find who started the fire, but no one is there. Nothing is here. I curse under my breath.

"Look!" Marvel exclaims, catching me off guard, but I see him pointing to another pillar of smoke.

I turn to Clove, who is currently stomping on the dying embers to prevent another, yet much smaller scale, forest fire. "Do you want to go see what's there?" I ask her, and she simply shrugs, giving her consent for either option. I turn to Marvel, who gestures to the smoke eagerly, and I brush ahead of him, moving swiftly towards our destination.

"Ah hell." I mutter as we reach another empty fire. I run a hand angrily through my hair, and begin to pace. I spit obscenities at the dying fire, angry it was made to distract us and has obviously succeeded. I sigh and am about to direct us deeper into the woods, away from the fire.

That's when we hear the explosion.

I am unsettled. My eyes dart around, searching for the cause, when my gaze lands on Techno, who is smiling proudly. "The mines!" He shouts enthusiastically, "They must have worked!"

We hear another explosion and Clove asks nervously, "I thought they weren't supposed to set each other off."

"They weren't," Three replies shakily.

The uneasiness in his voice and the look of pure terror etched onto his face is what sends me running back towards the horn, quickly trailed by my companions.

I pant heavily as I run, almost sprinting, my anger at Three for screwing up and my fear of what we will find at camp fueling me to keep going. Two more explosions and a muddled scream have me and the pack moving even faster.

Once we reach the Cornucopia and the smoking remnants of what used to be our supplies, the obscenities begin to flow out of my mouth. I shout them at the sky as I beat the ground with my fists, a hidden message of my hate for what the spectators and the rest of the freaking Capitol has created and done with the arena. I try to calm myself, but when I run a hand through my hair I end up tearing out a small bit. I swear at the clump of blonde locks in my hair before throwing it into the smoldering pile. I kick at the supplies, thoroughly pissed off with whoever destroyed the supplies, because the traps had just done their job.

But maybe they had done too well.

I whirl angrily on the boy from Three, who is already shaking before my scathing words hit him, "This is all your freaking fault, you inane ass!" I spit more cuss words his way, but when he begins to whimper that its not his fault, I lunge towards him, drenching each word with more and more venom as I shout, "It's. All. Your. Fault!"

His eyes widen as I glower darker and more hateful as what he has done truly starts to set in. Because of his mines all our food, water, medicine, and sponsor gifts are all gone. Every last one reduced to unsalvageable rubble. He turns and tries to run, but I quickly overtake him as I did the day he became a honorary Career. I catch him in a tight headlock and, with a twist of my arm, I jerk his neck all the way back, making a sickening crack. The thud of his body hitting the ground is perfectly timed with the boy's canon.

Marvel and Clove, who remained passive before, instantly come to calm me down when they find me still seething. But nothing comforting they have to say will calm me. All I want is to kill. I hiss almost inaudibly, "I want to murder whoever did this."

Marvel nods, frightened, but Clove subtly shrugs.

"If they're alive that is. No one could really have a good chance of surviving this explosion, and we probably just missed the canon in the initial boom," Clove says, voice void of emotion though it has an almost calming tone. I look at her, eyebrow raised, wondering what would happen if they were alive, and she sighs, "If they're alive Cato, you can either behead them or you can let me torture them because I hate the tribute who did this just as much as you, and then you can finish them off."

I grin sadistically, "The second one, Clover," and she gives me a smirk in return.

Marvel looks at the sky, and reports we have a good hour until twilight falls over us, followed by the showing of the dead.

I curtly nod, "Then let's sift through the supplies and try to find what's salvageable." My two companions immediately at off, but I try to steady my breathing. Techno really screwed things up for us, and maybe gave Twelve a better chance at beating the Careers and going home with the Victor's crown upon her head rather then in a wooden box.

XxXxXxXxX

"Damn it!" I mutter, voice filled with contempt as only David and Eric, the cripple from Ten, are the only ones who appear before the sky goes dark. Marvel scowls, too, but Clove just stays silent. She pulls out the pairs of night vision glasses from her pack beside her which she then slings over her shoulder after sliding a pair of the glasses onto her face and handing me the other. The night becomes startlingly clear, and I blink a few times to get adjusted, for I hadn't yet worn them. Clove had insisted the leaders of the hunts wear them, so only my District partner and Tara had used them. Marvel lights the branches Clove found earlier when she went gathering, and I can see the determination residing on his face in the dim torchlight. With Clove in front, we stride back into the woods.

I keep the brunette close, and make idle chat with her as she seems distracted. I talk to her about Ashen a little, referring to her as my, "pint sized terror of a friend". She relaxes a little, and tells me of a macho little boy back home, and we end up laughing slightly. Marvel eyes us suspiciously, but trudges on.

Silence falls heavy upon us when Clove thinks she hears something. We spend a good hour tracking what turns out to be a deer. She snarls angrily at herself under her breath, and a feeling of guilt washes over me as she huffs and I don't immediately comfort her.

"Way to go, Clove. You screwed us over." Marvel sighs sarcastically, but I don't see the joking smile on his face until the words leave my mouth.

"Just shut _up_, Marvel! It's not like you could do any better!"

The boy from One stares shocked at me and then eyes Clove. She raises an eyebrow at both of us, but remains still. Marvel looks back to me, and begins to back up, shaking his head, "I'm going to go. Obviously you and Clove have a stronger bond than with me. Let's just end it here?" He looks hopefully at us, and I feel Clove's eyes boring into the side of my skull, but I don't look at her. I nod quickly, and Marvel smiles, "Okay. I wish you guys the best of luck, but Marvelicious is still gonna kick your ass when it comes down to it."

"Looking forward to it Sparkle Boy." I smile back.

Marvel grins cheekily, rolling his eyes, and waves his hand as he disappears into the woods.

"Guess it's just you and me, Catokins." Clove smirks when I finally turn back to her. I roll my eyes and throw an arm around her shoulders in a friendly manner, but Clove blushes as she smiles up at me.

"C'mon, Clover."

XxXxXxXxX

I wake up in the middle of the woods where we made our makeshift camp, with Clove right beside me in a sleeping bag that matches my own. She lays staring at the clouds passing over head; pure, white fluffy shapes floating across the sky. She eyes me, bored, and smirks, "About time you woke up. I'm starving."

"Why didn't you eat?" I ask blearily, tearing my eyes away from the sun that shows it is around two in the afternoon. _Damn. _I think, surprised, _I did sleep really long._

"I don't know," Clove shrugs, standing up, stretching as she begins to crack her back. "I just didn't eat. Do you want to catch something or eat one of our packaged foods?"

"If by 'me' you mean that you'll catch the food, then let's go with that." I close my eyes and sigh.

"Ya, ya, whatever. Make a fire would you? I'll be back soon." Clove scoffs exasperatedly, and I know she leaves even though she doesn't make a sound. I smile, and slip back into slumber.

XxXxXxXxX

"Damn you, Cato!" Clove screeches, kicking me awake violently. I open one eye and peer up at my fuming District partner, two dead squirrels in her hand, "Can you do anything? I should just leave you on your own!"

"Oh you know you can't leave me," I smirk, sitting up as Clove leaves to gather some firewood, "You need me!"

"Oh I wouldn't be so sure," she rolls her eyes as she makes her return to camp mere moments later, arms filled with branches. My smirk widens, and I slip out of my sleeping bag to help make the fire, but Clove hands me one squirrel to gut.

I pull out a long, grey tube, and stare at its ominous color, slightly worried, "What is this?"

"The intestines, smart ass." She smiles, but the rare facial expression disappears when I fling them at her, as she gives me a hateful glower, but bites her tongue to keep from shouting an unwanted name at me. She quickly slices the second squirrel and gets a handful of entrails, which she throws at me, devious smirk plastered onto her face.

I guess that either the guts of a wild animal covering us repulsed the Gamemakers enough or the sponsors loved our squirrel organ fight more than I would have thought, because soon a whole meal is being floated down, a parachute attached. As I see that the meat is perfectly cooked squirrel, the latter becomes totally confirmed.

I dig in ravenously, until Clove snatches the basket away, taking a bite of the leg cooked to golden perfection. I don't know what urges me to do it, but I pull Clove onto my lap and bring her hand close to my mouth, taking a bite of her piece of squirrel leg. I look nervously at her, afraid I made my attraction to her too obvious.

But my doubts subside as she brushes her brown hair out of the way of her flawless pale skin and she gives me that heart warming smile accompanied by a light blush.

My heart flutters with some foreign feeling which I think must be hope.

But as I look into Clove's green eyes, I think it might be something more; something along the lines of love.

XxXxXxXxX

"Who do you think it was?" Clove peers curiously at the sky as she sits with her palms pressed flat against the grass behind her.

"No clue. Would it be too much to hope for the two from Twelve?" I mumble as I look to the east, the direction I swear the canons sounded in.

Clove only laughs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "Yes, I think it would be."

"Well I can always hope." I smirk.

"Sure you can, big guy. Sure you can."

I look at her longingly, wishing she would open up to me. We are getting closer, but it's going much much to slow for me.

But night sweeps over the arena, Marvel and Rue are portrayed in the sky, and Clove makes no sign that she is going to open up to me as we leave for our hunt.

XxXxXxXxX

Clove plops down on her sleeping bag, handing me a prepackaged bag of beef jerky.

"Why thank you, Miss Clover." I exaggeratedly bow, my training tag getting exposed as I do so, and it immediately catches her attention, but averts her gaze just as quickly.

"Ya, ya. So, is that your token?" Clove asks, focusing on the sun as it begins to dip below the horizon.

"Yes it is. It's my training tag. It just keeps me going, you know? Gives me strength."

Clove nods, small smile playing on her lips as she whispers, "I understand."

"What's yours, Clover?" I ask, nudging the girl less then a yard away from me. She pulls out a locket shaped as a circle that was tucked into her shirt. "It's just a necklace?" I say, slightly unimpressed, trying but failing not to show it.

She looks up me, and subtly shakes her head, removing the necklace from her slender neck. She scoots closer to me, placing it in my hand. It's a golden oval with slight thickness to it, with the name Eli etched in cursive on the front.

I look up at her, eyebrows raised, and she sighs, tucking her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs and placing her chin on her kneecaps, "It's my brother's name, remember? The one who died to give me a chance at life." I nod, and move closer to her, "A part of me died when he did, and Jayla gave me his old necklace to try to comfort me. I carved his name into it when I was little, and put his picture in it, to try to fill the hole there was in my life now that he's gone."

I flip open the locket, and my heart breaks.

It's a black and white picture of a two foot tall Clove being held in the arms of a boy with dark, wavy hair, the same hue as Clove's. Their eyes are the same color, too, and both of their eyes shine happily. Next to the picture, words in the same style as Eli's name on the front but a much smaller size, are eight words and eight words only, but they are enough to get through my rough exterior wall, '_In memory of Eli Flare: my real father._' I trace the years beneath the words, indicating that the boy was only eight, and as I look at the picture once more, I wish I knew Clove back then so I could've saved both of them. Saved them from their awful father and from the cold grip of death.

I look at her, and the way she gazes at me begs me to give her the locket back. I smile sadly, and clasp it around her neck for her. When I look up I'm startling close to her, can hear and feel her breath on my face. I push back her hair from her face tentatively, and am rewarded with a hint of bright, white teeth as she smiles. I focus solely on her as the anthem plays, revealing no deaths, and she holds my gaze steadily. She's so beautiful, and I almost tell her so, but Templesmith's voice cuts me off.

"Greetings to the final six competitors of the 74th Hunger Games," he begins, and Clove cocks an eyebrow, mouthing the word, 'feast', questioningly. I shrug, but do not distance myself from Clove's body or shy away from her gaze, "I would like to inform you of a rule change!" Both Clove's eyebrows shoot up, and I am shocked, too, there weren't really rules for the Hunger Games, "Under the new rule, both tributes from the same District will be declared Victors if they are the last two alive."

Clove and I look at each other, the words sinking in.

"We can win." Clove whispers, something along the lines of happiness seeping into her tone.

"Together." I whisper back, smile creeping onto my face as my hand shyly caresses her cheek.

Templesmith begins to repeat the rule change, but I block his voice out. The woods disappear, too, everything is beyond my notice as I brush my lips against Clove's.

**Author's Note: **Clato kiss! Review if you like Clato! :D

This whole chapter wasfluff and filler. So sorry about that. But next is the feast. In response to a couple PM's and reviews, yes, that also means Clove's death. :'(

Yes, there was a day difference between the last two segments. I couldn't think of anything worth writing, and I really wanted to write their kiss XD

Hope to post as soon as possible (maybe tomorrow :]) so keep fingers crossed and review! :D


	14. Chapter 14

**DISCLAIMER:**** I do not own the Hunger Games or any of its characters. All rights belong to Suzanne Collins.**

**Author's Note: **The chapter's very short and sweet... okay. It's short. Not sweet. It's the feast.

Review if you hate Collins just a little bit for killing Clato. :D

Chapter Fourteen:

_Templesmith begins to repeat the rule change, but I block his voice out. The woods disappear, too, everything is beyond my notice as I brush my lips against Clove's._

Clove's lips move softly against my own, and she delicately snakes her arms around my neck as she deepens the kiss. Far less patient than Clove, I wrap my arms around her slim waist and pull her onto my lap. I pour my emotions into the kiss, ridding myself of my anger and frustration with the game we've been forced to play, moving my lips faster with hers as I realize that she can be mine. We can be together. We can both win the Games, we can leave the arena and be happy with each other and have it be us against the world. We could survive.

Together.

Clove breaks away, gasping for breath. Her breathing is shallow as she whispers heavily, "That was my first kiss." My prickles with guilt for the briefest moment knowing it was not mine, and that I had almost gone all the way with a swanky rich girl that had also done it with the majority of my friends. But I was older, and I brushed it away, happy that I hadn't scared her away. I grin and she smiles sweetly as she closes the gap between us again.

The second kiss sends a surprisingly warm sensation surging through me, and I pull her even tighter to me, kissing her with more passion. She breaks away again, smirking devilishly, "We should probably get to sleep don't you think?" I roll my eyes, and she laughs softly, kissing me on the nose before she drags her sleeping bag very close to mine, and as she lays down I put out my arm, which she uses as a pillow. She curls up beside me, soaking up my warmth. She buries her face in my arm, and I barely understand as she mumbles, "Night, Cato."

I look at her, and whisper to the beautiful girl lying on my arm a nickname all my own, "Night, Clovie."

XxXxXxXxX

The sun beats down on me when I finally awaken, and Clove lays with a content smile on her face. Her eyes shine happily when she looks at me, and I lean down and give her a peck on the lips. She yawns, and reaches for her feet, hooking her fingers around the tip of her boot as she pulls herself into a sitting position. She snatches something from her pack, a ripe, red apple, and takes a little nibble of it. I chuckle at her daintiness and take a big bite out of the fruit. She laughs slightly, too, and hands me the apple to keep, pulling a smaller, more pink apple out of her pack.

"So, do you want to hunt?" Clove asks, "We can track down Ginger or make our way into the grassland where Thresh disappeared into."

"I don't know, Flare," I yank her closer to me and put my lips to her temple, "I can think of a few other things I'd rather do."

She smiles, sighing happily, "Me too, King. But we kind of are in the middle of a death match. So as much as I want to celebrate that we might both get-"

"Not might," I snap lightly but firmly, "We will. I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, you will not do stupid, daring things and neither will I. We will take down the rest of our opponents together and leave together."

"Together," Clove says the word as if testing how it feels on her tongue. She smiles, and laces her fingers with mine, "Together."

I nod, and help her to her feet, "Let's go hunt Five."

Clove ponders this, before smirking and shaking her head, "Ginger is better."

"Whatever you say, Clovie."

She raises an eyebrow, "What happened to me being called Clover?"

I shrug, "I don't know. It's just that Clovie is my nickname for you, and only I call you that."

She smiles, eyes sparkling like they did in the photo with her late brother, "That's really sweet, um, um, oh I don't know. I'll think of something."

I laugh and sling an arm around her shoulder, walking with her into the direction the sun is falling.

XxXxXxXxX

"Damn girl." I snarl as we walk away from the clearing in which we thought we would find Alexia from Five, but the foxlike girl had disappeared again. Clove is trying to calm me, but it does no good. I have a large bump on my head from where I hit a tree in the chase. Five is as slippery as a fox for sure, and I want to be the one to catch her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to get hurt. It's all my fault." Clove sighs, rubbing two fingers across the slight injury on my forehead that is throbbing, a steady trickle of blood beginning to flow out of the afflicted area. I gently brush her hand away.

"I'm fine, Clove. I've been through worse."

Clove looks slightly embarrassed, but drains her face of emotion as she focuses on the sun beginning to set in the distance. I sigh, and try to come up with something apologetic that would be proper to say, but the blare of the trumpets cut me off.

"Greetings to the final six competitors of the 74th Hunger Games! I would like to take the time to cordially invite you to a feast." Templesmith pauses, letting his words echo over the arena, and Clove smiles at me; some starving tributes must be coming, which means prey to kill, "Now, hold on. Some of you may be already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately." I grip Clove's hand; all I need is to get home with her. "Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked with your District number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance,"

Clove smiles at me and I my icy blue eyes lock with her green ones, "We're one step closer to going back home." I nod, smiling now, too. My District partner turns on her heel, beginning to walk away. She stops mid-stride, and calls over her shoulder, "You coming with me to the Cornucopia or what?"

I laugh, scoop up my bag, and hurry to catch up with Clove.

XxXxXxXxX

Dawn is just barely peeking above the horizon, but Clove and I have been up for hours, perfecting our plan. Clove will go directly to the feast, where as I will hang back and cover her. We expect attendance from all the tributes with the exception if Lover Boy, since he is probably physically unable.

We huddle at the tree line, waiting eagerly for the table to click into place, for the fight at the Feast to commence. Cove fidgets, twirling the knife in her hand impatiently, and I clutch at the blunt end of my spear absentmindedly, as if just making sure it's still there.

More light streaks across the sky, and that must meet the Gamemakers definition of dawn. The table rises up, with 4 different backpacks on it; two large black ones labeled with the numbers 2 and 11, a decent sized green pack with a 5 printed on it, and a pathetically small orange one which must have 12 written upon it. Clove leans towards the table in anticipation, but the first tribute does not dash madly out of the woods.

Instead, they slink out of the Cornucopia and snatch the green pack, disappearing into the cover of the trees nearby with a flash of red.

"I'm going after Ginger." I whisper in Clove's ear, and she looks at me, then at the ominous grassland, then back to me. She tries to mask the fear in her eye as she slowly nods, and I kiss her once on the lips before running in the direction of the redhead from Five.

I hear rustling a few yards away, and I peer around a tree curiously. I see Alexia leaning against an oak, whipping her head around nervously, before sighing and slipping slowly into a sitting position on the hard pack soil that covers the ground. She makes a move to open her backpack, when I speak out, "Your not as clever as you think Five." Her eyes widen in pure terror at the sound of my voice, and she immediately leaps up, running in the opposite direction of me. I roll my eyes, laughing bitterly, and I sprint after her.

The trees whizz by me, creating a green and brown blur, but all I focus on is the red hair of the girl I am chasing. She runs desperately, moving as fast as she can, and we both panting heavily. She zigzags back and forth for almost 1000 yards and I tail her all the way, until she pounces onto a tree, hugging it as she scurries up, situating herself in a branch 20 feet high.

"Don't hide Five!" I call smugly, "Why prolong the inevitable? If we wait long enough, Clove will come looking for us, and she's more imaginative than I when she has a reason to be."

She scowls down at me and opens her mouth, but the scream I hear does not come out of her mouth.

It comes from Clove's.

I stop dead, paralyzed with fear. Why- why is she screaming? She's not hurt. She _can't _be hurt.

"Cato!" Clove screeches again, and I feel nothing but pure terror as I whirl around, sprinting in the direction I came from as I hear the pain filled cry once more, "Cato!"

I scramble over foliage, desperate to reach her, "Clove!" I shout, hoping I can get there in time.

But when I burst through the tree line, I realize that I am too late.

"Clove," I call, grief and despair and absolute rage mixed into my tone as I see Clove, _my _Clove, sprawled out on the grass, Thresh towering above her rock in his hand. Twelve is jumping to her feet, running away with the orange backpack and Thresh disappears into the grassland with both my and his own packs, but I pay them no mind. I run straight to Clove, and kneel by her side.

She looks dazed, and I gingerly brush my hand across the large dent in her skull. That- that can be fixed. She can survive a few days until I kill the rest of the competition, and then they can heal her back at the Capitol. It can be fixed. She has to live.

She moans weakly, and her eyes flutter shut.

Terror surges through me and I squeeze her hand hard, "No, Clove! You can't give up! We can win! We were going to win!"

She looks up at me, and softly nods, her voice strained as she whispers, "We were going to. Were. Now you're going. For me."

"No, Clove! You can't say goodbye!" I plead, "You mean too much to me. You- you can't leave me here alone."

Clove's lower lip trembles, and she wheezes, "I don't think I can stay though. It hurts too much." I look into her fading green eyes, and she takes a shaky breath in, "I can't do it."

"Clove, please don't go. You can't give in. I can't lose you."

She smiles at me weakly, "I want to know I-I love you, Catie."

I try to swallow the lump in my throat as Clove gives me the nickname of her own she swore to think of, but a single tear falls down my cheek, the first since my father died. Clove attempts to wipe it away, but her arm falls back to her side, and she tries to stifle her sound of pain. I brush her silky hair over the dent in her skull as I choke out, "I love you, too, Clovie."

She gives me that smile as her eyes flutter shut, and as her canon echoes across the arena, so does my shout of incredible pain and agony.

She's gone. She's dead. All because of him.

I place my lips against her cold ones to give her one last kiss, but then I look away, refusing to watch the hovercraft take her.

I turn to face the grasslands.

Time to kill Thresh.


	15. Chapter 15

**DISCLAIMER:**** I do not own the Hunger Games or any of its characters. All rights belong to Suzanne Collins.**

Chapter Fifteen:

The grasslands prove difficult to get through, but I guess working in the fields all his life had made navigating through them second nature to Thresh.

Thresh. His name brings my blood to a boil, yet it also makes my heart twist in agony. I finally had Clove, and that monster took her away. I swing my sword to cut a path through a particularly tall patch of weeds, and catch a glimpse of myself in my weapon. I don't see me. I see a feral creature reflected. Matted blonde hair, a bloodied and dirt stained face, and a crazed look in the icy blue eyes. I see the tribute who killed 6 people. 6 _children._

Maybe I'm the monster.

I remember hours where my sister would beat me when I was little, saying that this was what bad people deserved. That I shouldn't go through with training because it would change me into an even worse person. I trained harder to prove her wrong, and challenged her to a fight. I beat her, broke her limbs, and she only landed a punch to my eye. I ended up killing Kendra that night, when I was 13. When I saw myself in the mirror, I saw nothing but the ugly, bruised, bloody monster she said I was. She was right.

She was always right.

I grit my teeth and trudge through the grass, trying to forget about my sister, about what I have done, about what I am. But I'm only human. I can't escape me.

I am a monster. I am a monster. I am a monster.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and try to shake out the thoughts in my head. I can't let my mind slip here, not in the arena. But the voices in my head just shout louder. Restlessly, they torment me. I hear Kendra's telling me to do the world a favor and to kill myself. I hear my father barking at me to make him proud.

And I also hear Clove's. Telling me to keep my promise.

The rain starts to fall over me, masking the tears that fall out of my eyes, "I'm trying Clove. I'm trying."

XxXxXxXxX

She's in the sky.

After the anthem blares, only my Clovie shows up. Every feature I see makes me want to cry. Her perfect pale complexion, the way her green eyes have the calculating look to them. But what hurts the most is seeing the small smile on her lips.

Her face is projected there for a long time, to fill the whole time slot, and I don't turn away. I look into her beautiful eyes and pretend that she can see me, too.

XxXxXxXxX

I don't sleep. I can't.

I try to fall asleep, but it proves impossible as the rain begins to fall steadier and I have no shelter; not to mention I can still hear Clove. Sometimes she is crying, sometimes she is screaming, and other times she is begging me to try to win for us, to bring us together again. I block my ears, but she is even clearer when I do so. It's impossible to ignore it, so I get up long before the sun has even risen and start to search for Thresh.

I walk for hours, or at least it feels like that. There's no way of telling the time. The clouds block the sun from shining over the arena, so I have no way of estimating how far into the day we are. I only know that I am tired and hungry as I come upon the first sign of life.

But when I hear Eleven's voice, all I focus on is my need to kill the man that killed Clove.

XxXxXxXxX

I wait in the tall grasses, waiting for Thresh to walk away from his little camp and pile of supplies and weapons. He shows no sign of doing so, but he finally rises from his position when I make too loud of a commotion, a large rock in his hand.

The same instrument he used to kill Clove.

My eyes narrow, and I call out, my voice hoarse and dry from underuse, "I found you, Eleven."

He whirls, gripping his rock harder, and mumbles, "Nice to see you, too, Monster Boy."

My face contorts in rage. _I'm not a monster. I'm not a monster, _I tell myself.

But I am.

I growl angrily at Thresh, "You killed her."

"She deserved it. And so do you, Monster Boy. Knife Girl deserved to die!" Eleven's face darkens.

"Why?" I shout bitterly as the rain soaks us both, chilling me to the bone despite the anger burning at my core.

Conflicted emotions cross his face, "I thought she killed Rue." That's it? _That's _why he killed her? For something she hadn't even done? I glower at him, and he scowls, "Why do you care Monster Boy? I thought you were made of steel, that nothing could hurt you."

My expression remains as intense as before, but my eyes soften, "That was before I met Clove." His face shows blatant confusion, and I take the moment where he lets his guard down to pounce. I quickly cross the distance between us and knock him to the ground angrily. He groans as he hits the grass and I immediately drive my boot into his neck, pushing down harder as he claws desperately at my foot. I lean down into his face, "Why do _you _deserve to live? You said Clove deserved to die because she killed, but you killed, too. What gave you the right to kill the one person important to me?" He shakes his head, silently begging me to believe it was an honest mistake he killed her, but I laugh humorlessly, "No answer, huh?"

I think of Clove sprawled lifelessly on the grass by the golden horn, Thresh taking her life along with the rock and the guilt for killing such a perfect creature. She was perfect to me. _Was. _She doesn't live anymore. Thresh took her from me with the damn rock he clutches in his hand. I give another guttural growl, "You took something from me, Thresh. Something I valued more than anything." He slowly nods, and uses his spare hand to point at the black backpack marked with a 2 at his camp. I dig my heel harder into the vulnerable skin on his neck, howling, "I don't want the damn backpack! I want Clove! But you can't give her back, can you Eleven?" He mouths an apology, and I laugh humorlessly, "You think a simple apology can fix it? Do you think that 'I'm sorry' will bring back the girl I love?"

He splutters underneath my weight so I remove my foot from his neck and instead crush it onto his stomach, not wanting him to die of asphyxiation this early on when Clove suffered much longer. He takes a breath raggedly, "You know it's funny, how you can call him Lover Boy when you were just the same with Knife Girl."

Thresh seems to realize his mistake as his eyes widen when they meet with mine. I shake with absolute rage, and keep a scarily calm tone as I say, "So hilarious, Eleven. But you want to know what the difference is between the two of us. Why we aren't the same?" I lean down in his face, spitting, an acidic quality to my voice, "He still has the bitch on fire. But I don't have Clove, do I?" I scowl, shouting, "All because of you! You! You're the goddamn monster!" Tears stream down my cheeks now, and I unsheathe my sword, pointing the weapon at his throat, "You are."

He violently jerks to the side, throwing my foot off his torso, and I topple backward, throwing my sword. I land on my back with a thud, and Thresh looms over me his voice an intense rumble as he yells, "Look, Two! I need to get home! I have a sister!"

"Well I need to win too, Eleven," I grunt as I kick up into Thresh's gut, using the seconds where he stumbles back to absorb the blow to roll over to my sword and leap to my feet, "I made a promise that I don't intend to break."

Thresh grips at his rock, and cautiously steps towards me. I immediately lash out with my weapon when he is within range. He suffers a cut to the arm and can't snatch at my weapon as he takes in the severity of the wound. It's a good inch in, but has yet to hit the bone, as Thresh doesn't have very slender arms. But Clove did.

Clove.

I thrust my sword into his stomach, a steady flow of blood engulfing the blade even before I can remove the weapon. Thresh gives a low groan of sheer pain, and whimpers as I pull the blade out only to push it back into a different part of his torso. And once more into the the side left clean of blood.

He snarls as he jerks the weapon out of himself, stumbling only slightly from the pain, and begins to swing at me. I duck and evade all of his half hearted attempts easily, and once he has to stop to catch a breath I knock the sword out of his hand. He puts up his fists, "Fight me for real, Two. Don't hide behind a weapon. You'll figure out how I got that 10."

I laugh humorlessly as the first lightning strike streaks across the sky, "And maybe you'll get a better idea of how I got mine."

We circle each other as first few rolls of thunder rip through the arena, waiting for a weakness to exploit. Thresh takes one step off balance, and I deliver a blow to his side which cause him to teeter from side to side, before landing a hooked punch on his jaw that sends him toppling backwards. I step on his chest again, and I snatch the rock a few yards away. I lean into his face, and my position begins to become very real.

I can avenge her. I can do this. For her.

I shake my head slowly at the boy beneath me who begs for mercy, and my lips turn up into a sadistic smirk. I adjust my grip on the rock, and bring it down again and again on his skull, until his eyes and lips drain of color and his canon coincides with a thunder clap that shakes the arena.

And as the rain hits my skin harder, I begin to screech with laughter.

_I killed him, Clove._

XxXxXxXxX

I stumble out of the grasslands, moving with little purpose. I have nothing to work for really. I avenged my Clovie, but she's not here to win with me. What's the point if she's not here?

Seeing Thresh in the sky results in another fit of crazed laughter, though nothing is really funny. It just feels right to see the man who killed Clove up in the sky. It's almost as if I can hear her telling me to laugh, that she wants me to celebrate that I am that much closer to winning. But she never mentions winning, just returning to her. I have no doubts they mean the same thing as the image of the dark skinned boy dissolves into the sky.

Once I see his face, it reminds me of the backpack I had confiscated back from him, and I tear open the pack eagerly. I pull out a suit of armor that appears to be the perfect size for me, so I slip it on. It is made of some sort of chain-mail and is startlingly light. I try throwing in the armor, and see I still hit my mark when I aim for the pack. That's when I notice it is not yet empty. I pull another, far smaller suit of armor out of the pack, meant to be worn by someone with a far curvier physique, and I have to choke back a sob. I clutch the armor to my chest and pretend that it is Clove I am holding.

That night, even though I am left exhausted and weary from my fight with Thresh, I still cannot sleep.

XxXxXxXxX

I hear a cannon sound in the early afternoon, and no matter who it is, I am pleased by the sound. I detest the bitch on fire, the girl who screwed with my sponsors, stole my fans, claimed the title of the highest scorer in the Games; Clove and I would have won if it weren't for her. We would have won.

Lover Boy isn't much better. In fact, I'm almost positive he has more sponsors than she does, and he was the one who wiped the rest of the interviews from mind after he declared his love. But what kills me is that I believe him. But I wouldn't ever believe the girl.

And then Ginger. The girl I went after at the feast that resulted in Clove's death. I hate her for that, too, even though it wasn't her fault.

It was my fault. Everything bad that has happened to me is all my fault.

I sigh, and try to sleep as the sun looms high overhead, hoping that Clove is up there, too.

XxXxXxXxX

I pause in a small clearing, stopping my search for the two from Twelve for the first time since Ginger's face lit up the sky last night. I am parched, as the early afternoon sun beats down on me relentlessly, even though the cover of the treetops hangs above me.

But as I stop to catch my breath, I hear an animalistic growl behind me; and when I turn, I am face to face with a pair of caramel brown eyes on a wolf with sandy brown fur.

The mutt bares it's teeth, and leaps out as I turn and sprint for the one place I can get a height advantage.

The Cornucopia.

**Author's Note: **Phew! I've been working for _hours _perfecting the fight and trying to show that Cato's a little bit less than sane now that Clove is dead.

Next chapter is the finale! Wow... I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

Please review! :)


	16. Chapter 16

**DISCLAIMER:**** I do not own the Hunger Games or any if its characters. All rights belong to Suzanne Collins.**

Chapter Sixteen:

I run away from the creatures desperately, making a loud commotion as I barrel through trees and over foliage. The wolf like creatures bite at me ferociously, growling viciously as they bound after me.

There are far more differences than similarities between the creatures. Some have bright blonde fur, others raven black. Some have chocolate eyes, others with sparkling blue. But they all have razor sharp teeth, and they all seem dead set on killing me.

"Well this is just great," I breathe as I run harder, jumping a bush of poisonous berries, hoping some of the mutts will swallow some as the crash through the bush. But I have no luck. The creatures, too, leap gracefully over the bush, and continue to run behind me, nipping at my ankles. I try to steady my breathing as I burst into a sprint, trying to use the precious oxygen wisely and get enough to fuel my muscles as I move my legs faster, carrying myself quickly through the woods.

I hear voices eventually, yet do not give a damn. I'm surprised my hearing is even working when I'm working so hard to even move now. I have the body armor on to protect me, and the two from Twelve could not hurt me in the small time I am exposed to them and whatever weapons they may have.

When they come into view, Katniss nocks an arrow and lets it fly, hitting its mark on my chest. I try to smirk as she realizes with a shock that I'm wearing armor, but I'm breathing too heavy to do anything to do anything but run from the mutts who still bound after me only a few yards back. I run in between my opponents and make a break for the Cornucopia.

I scale it easily as my competition hurries to catch up. I rest towards the lip of the horn and bend over to try to help with my breathing, hoping to gain control of my body once more, as right now it commands me to allow it to simply breathe and rest. Fire Girl and Lover Boy rest towards the middle of the horn.

"Can they climb it?" I splutter in between wheezes.

"What?" Katniss snaps at me, and her District partner calmly repeats what I said to her, and she looks back to the mutts, only to let out a blood curdling shriek. "It's her!"

I look at what Twelve has become fixated with, a yellow-furred mutt with emerald eyes that has a startling similarity to... Glimmer. That's what she means! It's the tributes! And the mutt that I saw first, that was Marvel. I survey the tributes and see all of them. From the Ginger of Five to the small girl from Eleven. The girl explains it to Lover Boy, and they speculate if the eyes are the same.

That makes my blood chill. Did... did they take Clove's eyes and put them into a _mutt_? I swear I'll win just to kill all the Gamemakers for marring her.

I take a deep breath in, trying to gain control of my anger, stalking up behind Lover Boy and pulling him into a tight headlock. I smile sadistically as she whirls on me, fear in her eye as she sees me cutting off her 'beloved's' air. She scowls, nocking another arrow, aiming her shot at my skull.

I laugh humorlessly at them. They think I'm just a monster, don't they? A cold, heartless machine programmed to kill? They know _nothing _about me. They don't know about my family, about what's happened to me, about how even my friends are scared of the man I became. I didn't know there was anything else I could do to make my father proud, so I trained. But when you train, you can't just stop training. You need to do what they want. They don't know that. They don't know about Clove. They don't know _anything._ But I only get out one sentence that the Cato everyone thinks I am would say, "Shoot me and he goes down with me."

She purses her lips, but still holds her bow up, the tip of the arrow still aimed at my head. Lover Boy claws desperately at my hand, and I think he is trying to loosen my grip on his neck. I won't though, I will kill him and use him as a defense against her arrows and then to knock her down to the mutts.

But as I look down at my hand, I see a 'x' made in blood. And as my mind connects one thing to another, Twelve's arrow has already hit its mark.

I let out a cry of pain as the arrow cuts though my skin and I release Lover Boy reflexively. And I can't get a headlock on him again before he slams back against me.

His love grasps him desperately, but I slip on the pool of blood coating the metal and fall backward, off the horn.

_I'm sorry Bryan. I'm sorry mother. I'm sorry father._

I hit the ground with a sickening crack.

_I'm sorry Ashen. I'm sorry Brad._

The mutts descend upon me hungrily.

_I'm sorry Clovie._

XxXxXxXxX

I fight the mutts desperately, swinging my sword at them. They have managed to bite their way through my armor, and even though I knew with one look that the teeth would hurt like hell, I was not expecting the level of excruciating pain that shoots through me when so much as one tooth even scratches the surface of my skin. I made myself stay quiet through my first few hours of torture, but now that the light in the sky is diminishing, so is my resolve. I whimper as I try to drag myself around to the tail so I can meet up with Twelve again, but the hope is quickly fading. I let them eat at me eventually, just collapsing in the pile of my blood that has accumulated. As they start to bite deep into my flesh, I realize I need to keep going.

I look down to the chain around my neck, expecting it to give me strength, but it doesn't. I look at the number embedded in the silver, and it makes me almost embrace my view of my life; I'm not a person, just a sh-tty little number. I was made to face these Games, to face the line of life and death. Why try to play a game I can't even win.

_For Clove. _The voice in my head is very final. _To try to die with some dignity. To make them proud even though you don't win. _

I take a shaky breath in, decapitate the mutt gnawing at my exposed bone, and begin to crawl.

XxXxXxXxX

Each mutt gets their turn at me as I start to move, each seeming to hold a grudge.

Glimmer; for me not saving her from the Tracker Jackers. She falls dead with a piece of my hand in her mouth.

David; for snapping his neck like a savage. He bounds away after tearing off a hunk of flesh, leaving a fountain of blood gushing out of my arm.

Eric; for laughing at his disability, watching with a smirk as he died. He lets out his death scream after taking off my foot, my sword cutting through his throat.

I close my eyes as delicate little Rue rakes my legs with her long claws, but they flutter open when something picks the brown furred mutt off me.

A mutt coated with chocolate fur, with shining green eyes. She snarls at Rue, at Marvel who challenges her, and lashes out as the two from Ten try to kill her. She stands protectively above me, fending off two mutts until Marvel takes the creature and throws her against the grass, splattering my blood over all the mutts, who lick themselves clean. But the mutt who saved me lays still, though, and I crawl over to her. She whimpers, and licks my face once, making all my wounds sting, but I do not care. I stay with my dying Clove until the mutts yank me away from her, working away at me once more.

XxXxXxXxX

After hours of torture, I lay tired, defeated on the ground soiled with my own blood, letting the mutts tear apart my flesh and lap up my blood. I gave up about an hour ago, not caring anymore. No one will miss the bitter killer from Two.

But that's when I see her.

Frail frame in a frilly white dress, beautiful brown hair cascading down her shoulders, she could pass for any angel coming to lead me to the land above or to the world under me; but her eyes, green with such depth and dimension makes me know that she is, indeed, her.

She is my Clovie.

I try to call out, even though there's no doubt it will be weak and hoarse, but all that comes out is another cry of pain. But Clove seems oblivious to my mangled state, only laughing, "Cato! It's so good to see you!" I lay there, pain overwhelming me, waiting for the small girl to come to me and to take me to where I will spend the rest of eternity. But she does not come. So I start to come to her.

Slowly, I drag myself over the soil and grass. Very slowly. Hours of agonizing torture pass, with me barely tolerating the mutts as they attempt to turn me into a bloodied carcass, knowing each time I move, I get one step closer to her. To Clove.

I wonder why she hasn't run to me yet, she always told me she would be there for me. But as the sun starts to rise, it reminds me of the dawn of the second day of the games, and the memory comes flooding back.

_"Look, whenever you need help, just tell me. Call out for me. I'll help you in any way I can."_

_"Why?" _

_"Because it's what..." Clove breaks off, unsure of how to continue._

_I gaze at Clove as she further stumbles over her explanation, until I can't bear it anymore, "It's what allies do?" I offer in attempt to finish her statement._

_She just subtly shakes her head, before she locks eyes with me, "That's what friends are for."_

With what little strength I have left, I outstretch my arm, shaking with the pain, drenched with the blood, and mumble, "Please."

Clove laughs, and nods enthusiastically. She scurries across the field, grass crunching under her feet all the while. She looks so elated, I can't help but try to work my raw lips into a smile, as well.

As she stands over me, her happiness is so blatant as she giggles.

And as she bends down, I hear the distinctive sound of an arrow cutting through the air.

And as she slips her soft, petite hand into my rough, callused one for the last time, I register a sharp pain in my head.

But all but Clove's touch disappear as I let the darkness overcome me.

THE END

**Author's Note: **And that's the end... I don't know if I should laugh of cry. I have a Clove story coming out soon, and after that's done I _might _do an alternate ending. If you guys want. Just let me know. :)

Now if you've read this far, please let me know what you think! REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW! :D

Thanks for reading the Monstrous Boy from Two! :D


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